Chapter 38 Sebastian
SEBASTIAN
I leave the office at noon on Fridays because nothing important happens after that.
It’s a rule I’ve followed for years. Clean exits. Predictable rhythms. The world behaves better when you don’t tempt it.
I walk inside my house, loosening my tie. Drew’s keys lie on the coffee table.
As I approach the kitchen, I hear the low hum of Drew’s laptop fan. Ivy’s soft, warm laugh floats from inside. It stops me mid-step, something warm settling low in my chest before I can question why.
Drew sits at the dining table, sleeves rolled up, tie abandoned, glaring at a spreadsheet like it personally wronged him. Accountant energy, through and through. Numbers, control, order after chaos. It suits him.
Ivy is barefoot, one leg tucked beneath her, phone in her hands. Her hair is in a messy bun, swallowed by my large sweatshirt. She’s comfortable, belonging in a way that still surprises me.
She looks up when she hears me and smiles. “Hey,” she says.
“Hey,” I answer.
I cross the room, brushing a kiss against her temple. She leans into it automatically, her shoulder fitting beneath my hand like it always has. The motion feels practiced. Familiar. Dangerous.
Drew glances up. “You’re home early.”
“Friday,” I say.
“Right,” he mutters, already back to his numbers. “The civilized workday.”
Ivy’s phone buzzes. She glances down, lips twitching.
“That your dad?” I ask.
She nods. “He’s checking in.”
I catch a fragment as she types, her thumbs moving fast.
“Who’s Elizabeth?” I ask.
“The woman he’s been seeing.” Her eyes twinkle at me. “She keeps her doors unlocked for him.”
Drew snorts. “That tracks.”
I pause. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.
Ivy looks up, catching my expression. “It’s normal to him. To just show up, uninvited and unannounced.”
“Is it?” I ask dryly.
She grins. “In my family? Yes.”
I note the casual way boundaries blur. The affection threaded through it. Ivy comes from people who mistake access for intimacy. Who call proximity love. It explains a lot.
She sets her phone down and stands. “I’m going to start lunch.”
Drew closes his laptop with a sigh of surrender. “I need water before my brain liquefies.”
I lean against the counter, a habit more than an intention.
Mr. Pickles chooses that moment to reveal himself. He hops onto the counter with the confidence of a creature who has never known consequences.
“Hey—no,” Ivy says automatically, reaching for him.
The cat freezes, his body rigid. Tail low. Eyes locked on Drew.
I look up in time to see Drew’s glass tip. Water spills everywhere.
“Pickles,” I say, “No.”
But it’s too late.
He’s already leaping out of the way like he’s trying to escape holy water.
He flinches, then launches himself off the counter before skidding dramatically over the table like a creature flung by destiny, sliding past Drew.
“Goddammit,” Drew groans, jumping back. “I swear, you’re trying to kill me.”
Ivy bursts out laughing, bright and uncontained. The sound hits me square in the chest.
I grab a towel, stepping in behind her. She leans back into me without thinking, still laughing.
“You okay?” I ask.
“Fine,” she says, breathless. “Apparently, we’re raising a menace.”
“He’ll adapt,” I reply mildly.
Mr. Pickles flicks his tail and stalks off, dignity in tatters. He pauses at the entrance and glances back at us, eyes bright and unreadable, before disappearing.
We clean up the spill. Drew complains theatrically. Ivy nudges my hip with hers as she moves around the kitchen, humming softly, already settling into a rhythm that feels routine.
The house relaxes around us.
Outside the kitchen window, the hedge line rustles once, then goes still.
Ivy begins chopping vegetables while Drew retreats to the living room and returns to his numbers. I lean against the counter and watch her.
The scene is unremarkable. Ordinary. Peaceful.
And that’s what makes it dangerous. Because ordinary things are the easiest to lose.
I push the fear aside.
The kitchen smells like garlic and heat, with something sweet underneath it.
Ivy moves through the space like she’s been here forever—barefoot, unhurried, the tantalizing curve of the back of her neck exposed. She hums softly as she stirs spaghetti sauce over the stove, utterly unbothered by the fact that she’s dismantling my sense of order one step at a time.
She glances over her shoulder at me, her eyes twinkling.
When she moves to the refrigerator, her hip brushes against me. I inhale sharply before I can stop myself.
“Sorry,” she says, not sounding sorry at all.
The contact lingers—a warm line of awareness that travels too fast and settles too deep. My hand flexes at my side. My jaw tightens.
She flicks her gaze up at me, green eyes darkening. “What’s wrong?”
“You did that on purpose,” I say quietly.
Her lips curve into a wicked smile. “Did I?”
She shifts again, reaching past me for a utensil, her arm sliding slowly across my chest this time. Slow. Intentional. When she pulls back, her fingers graze my ribs like she’s testing a live wire.
I catch her wrist. Her pulse jumps beneath my thumb.
“Ivy,” I warn.
She tilts her head, studying me like she’s cataloging reactions. “You’re the one standing in the way.”
I step closer, crowding her until the counter presses cold against her back. Her body fits against mine like it was designed for this exact moment.
My voice drops. “You’re pushing.”
“Yes,” she says unapologetically.
My other hand finds her waist, gripping it possessively. The restraint I’m proud of frays, thread by thread.
“You need to stop,” I murmur near her ear, my breath uneven. “Before I forget why I should.”
Her breath catches, and then she smiles. “Maybe I don’t want—"
“Hey,” Drew pads into the room. “Do either of you know where—”
I let go immediately.
Ivy steps back just as quickly, perfectly composed, reaching for the cutting board as if nothing had happened.
“In the drawer by the fridge,” she says brightly.
Drew nods, already distracted again.
I stay exactly where I am, staring at the counter like it personally betrayed me.
Ivy glances over her shoulder and winks at me.
My pulse bangs against my skin.
A shiver of fear rolls through me as my earlier rule about dating blasts through my brain, waving a red flag in warning.
But when I catch her eye, the tension eases.
For now.