Chapter 35 Sebastian
SEBASTIAN
The kitchen looks like a crime scene.
Coffee splashed across the counter. A shattered mug on the floor. Paper towels everywhere. Drew stands near the sink, damp, rumpled, and deeply resentful of his life choices.
Mr. Pickles is curled against my chest like none of this concerns him.
Drew glares at the cat. “I just want it on record that this is the ugliest animal I’ve ever been assaulted by.”
I don’t look at him. I stroke Mr. Pickles’ ears, slow and steady. “Do you want to sleep in the garage?”
Drew scoffs. “What?”
“If you don’t stop insulting our cat,” I say calmly, “that’s where you’re going.”
The word slips out without thought.
Our.
I feel it the second it lands.
Drew freezes. “Our—”
I cut him off with a look sharp enough to end the conversation permanently.
He closes his mouth.
Silence settles around us, thick and charged.
And then I feel Ivy’s stare.
Her pupils are blown wide, her mouth slightly parted, her posture utterly still. Like she’s cataloging me for later.
I glance down at Mr. Pickles. Then back at her.
Yeah. I might be in trouble.
Her expression shifts—slow, feral, and unmistakably pleased. Like she’s one impulsive decision away from pushing me against the counter and stripping me down to prove a point.
I wouldn’t mind. At all.
But there’s broken ceramic underfoot, spilled coffee drying fast, and my irritating younger brother watching us with the kind of suspicion that kills momentum instantly.
So instead, I clear my throat and adjust my hold on the cat like this is normal. Like I didn’t just accidentally stake a claim.
Ivy finally blinks, and her lips curl into a smile.
And that’s when I know I’ve crossed a line I can’t uncross.
An hour later, things are mostly back to normal.
Well, almost.
Drew sucks in a breath, his thumb frozen mid-scroll, an unbroken coffee mug abandoned on the counter.
“Oh no,” he says softly.
I take a sip of the coffee Ivy made, savoring its perfect taste. “What?”
Ivy leans closer to him, still glowing in a way I haven’t stopped noticing. “What are you looking—oh.”
I lean over Ivy’s shoulder. Drew turns the screen. “Old Mill Row Neighborhood Watch Facebook Group.”
My eyes scan his phone, and a sigh slips out.
I used to believe privacy was a given.
Old Mill Row is the kind of neighborhood where people wave politely, bring casseroles when someone gets sick, and pretend they aren’t absolutely feral with curiosity. I bought this house because it was quiet. Predictable. Safe.
Apparently, that was optimistic.
Every neighbor on the street tried to befriend me at least once. They descended like vultures carrying casseroles the second I pulled into the driveway, Marcus’s U-Haul idling behind me.
Questions flew at me from every direction.
I barely made it inside before slamming and locking the door like I was fleeing a crime scene.
I thought they’d given up. Decided privacy was something I’d earned.
I was very wrong.
My jaw tightens. “Why are you in that group?”
“Because I like to know when the street loses its collective mind,” he says, already scrolling. Then he clears his throat. “Okay. Here we go.”
I brace myself.
KarenW859: Did anyone else’s Ring camera catch Sebastian Locke HOLDING HANDS last night?!?!
Ivy clamps a hand over her mouth. “Oh no.”
I scrub a hand over my face. “Of course they did.”
Drew scrolls.
LindaPLovesTea: WAIT. Sebastian Locke?? The new guy in town?
TomR_RingCam: YES. I thought my camera glitched. He was walking toward his house on Old Mill Row.
KarenW859: WITH A WOMAN!
TeaTimeSue: And a BLACK CAT. I rewound it three times.
I exhale slowly. “Jesus Christ.”
He keeps going.
JaniceTJustCurious: I didn’t even know he liked people, let alone cats.
MarkDJustSaying: Is this the same Sebastian Locke who didn’t come to the block party?
Ivy makes a strangled sound somewhere between laughter and delight. “I’m obsessed.”
Drew snorts. “There are forty-seven comments. Someone zoomed in on your sweatshirt, Ivy.”
HeatherLDetailsMatter: Someone zoomed in—pretty sure the woman was wearing one of his sweatshirts.
LindaPLovesTea: I’m sorry but this is the most exciting thing that’s happened on Old Mill Row in YEARS.
Drew adds, “Oh—and someone started a poll about whether the cat is yours or hers.”
Ivy grins. “He chose Sebastian over me.” She looks down at the cat. “Traitor.”
I wiggle my brows at her. “He has good taste.”
She snorts, but the sparkle in her eyes says she agrees.
But my happiness is short-lived. One look at the comments in the Facebook group and my mood sours.
The thing is—I expect to feel exposed. Irritated. Defensive.
Instead, I feel… resigned.
And, disturbingly, a little amused.
TomR_RingCam: Poll idea:
Thumbs up: Cat is his
Heart: Cat is hers
Cat Emogi: Cat was kidnapped
KarenW859: I voted “cat chose him.”
Anonymous Member: Has anyone checked if this means Halloween decorations are allowed again?
TeaTimeSue: I just want to know the cat’s name.
Admin (Old Mill Row HOA): Please remember to keep comments respectful and avoid speculation.
MarkDJustSaying: Too late.
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “I should have stayed masked.”
Ivy beams at me, completely unapologetic. “Too late. You’ve been domesticated.”
“Masked?” Drew’s eyebrows are raised.
“Never mind.”
From the couch, Mr. Pickles flicks his tail like he’s aware of his new status.
I glance at Ivy. She’s still smiling, eyes bright, clearly delighted by the town collectively short-circuiting over us. Over me. She isn’t embarrassed. She isn’t hiding. She’s right where she belongs.
With me.
I finish my coffee. Before I set the mug down, Ivy stands.
“I’m making fresh coffee,” she says, already moving toward the machine.
Relief hits me so fast it’s embarrassing.
I don’t even think about it—I step forward, wrap my arms around her, and kiss her in the kitchen. She sighs against my lips.
When I pull back, she smiles up at me, then turns to the fancy coffee machine. Mr. Pickles yawns and stretches like he owns the place.
Drew watches all of it, then sighs dramatically. “I need a new house. Or noise-canceling headphones.”
I don’t respond.
I just stand there, watching Ivy move through my kitchen like she’s always been here, the cat settling in, the chaos already spreading through Hollow Creek.
And somehow, it feels right.
If this is what being seen looks like, I can live with it.