Chapter 20 Food Carts With a Side of Flirting
Food Carts With a Side of Flirting
Harper tugged her coat tighter and tried—not for the first time—to pretend this wasn’t the weirdest meeting of her life. Or that her heart wasn’t beating a touch faster than it should.
Beside her, Sebastian Hawthorne was deep in an impassioned debate with a street vendor about the appropriate cheese-to-potato ratio in a croquette.
His scarf was losing a battle with the wind, his coat hung open like he’d forgotten buttons existed, and his hair was in utter disarray—looking, of course, infuriatingly fantastic.
The kind of disheveled that magazines spent hours trying to recreate.
She caught herself watching the animated way his hands moved as he spoke, the slight crinkle at the corners of his eyes when he smiled. Harper quickly looked away, studying the cobblestones with sudden fascination.
He handed over a few coins with unnecessary drama and turned to her, presenting a paper cone like it was a bouquet.
“Okay, you can’t tell me that you don’t love this,” he said. “It’s hot, salty, and has a blatant disregard for the heart.”
“Why do I feel like you’re describing yourself?” Harper asked, accepting the croquette. Her fingers brushed his in the exchange, sending an unwelcome tingle up her arm.
Sebastian laughed. “Hey, I aspire to be snackable.”
She didn’t laugh. She snorted. Which made Sebastian’s grin deepen, like it was a private treasure he was pleased to uncover. She felt a sudden warmth building inside her that had nothing to do with the food.
“Come on,” he said, his voice dropping slightly. “Too many people here. I know a better spot.”
They ducked into a quieter side street where golden light spilled from hanging lanterns and the scent of fried food gave way to cold air and old stone.
The city felt older here. Quieter. Like they’d slipped into a postcard.
Like they were the only two people who mattered.
In another life, this could be a date, but Harper couldn’t afford to get swept up in possibilities.
Harper bit into her croquette. Of course it was stupidly good. Because Sebastian never did anything halfway, not even forbidden snacks on side streets during working hours. A small, traitorous part of her wondered what else he never did halfway.
She gave him a side-eye, trying to reclaim her professional detachment. “Is this what you do? Take journalists into back alleys and charm them into giving you good press?”
He grinned, catching her gaze longer than strictly necessary. “Only the difficult ones.”
“You’re better at this than I expected,” she said.
“At croquettes?”
“At… not making me regret working with you.” Sebastian blinked, caught off guard. Then he smiled—soft this time, without the usual edge of mischief. “I could still ruin it,” he offered lightly. “There’s time.”
“I know.” Her voice dropped. “That’s the scary part.” They kept walking.
They wandered past a shuttered wine shop and turned into a narrow courtyard—one of those hidden spaces not even on the tourist maps.
It had a wrought iron bench and a fountain with a lion’s head that coughed up water like it was deeply offended to be part of the décor. Sebastian gestured dramatically.
“This is where I usually come to hide from things,” he said. “Meetings. Reality. Occasionally my own choices.”
“So basically your natural habitat.” She felt the corner of her mouth tugging upward despite herself.
He flopped dramatically onto the bench. “Exactly.”
Harper hesitated, then sat beside him—keeping what she told herself was a professionally appropriate amount of space between them. The bench wasn’t large, though, and she could feel the warmth radiating from him in the cool evening air.
“So,” she said, suddenly aware of how alone they were, “you said we needed to talk?”
He nodded, suddenly a little more serious. “It’s about Charles. I think we’ve got him.”
That sobered her. “What do you mean?”
Sebastian leaned forward, his voice dropping to just above a whisper.
“Ethan’s been digging through those offshore accounts we found.
He’s mapped out the entire network—shell companies, hidden trusts, all of it.
” His eyes gleamed with something between triumph and vengeance.
“There’s a clear money trail from foreign developers straight to Charles’s private accounts, all coinciding perfectly with those rezoning approvals he pushed through last year. ”
Harper felt her pulse quicken, but not entirely from professional excitement. “Are you absolutely sure? We’re talking about one of the most powerful men in the country.”
“Better than sure,” Sebastian replied, reaching into his coat and pulling out a slim file.
“Bank transfers, meeting logs, emails, everything.” He handed her the file, their fingers brushing in a way that sent an entirely unprofessional shiver up her spine.
“It’s airtight, Harper. Bribes, influence peddling, regulatory capture—it’s all there. ”
She opened the file, scanning the documents with practiced efficiency. The evidence was damning—dates, amounts, coded correspondence that wasn’t nearly coded enough. Her journalist’s instinct hummed with the unmistakable electricity of a career-defining story.
“This is…” she began, looking up to find Sebastian watching her intently.
“Enough?” he finished.
Harper nodded slowly, her mind already formatting headlines, planning follow-ups, anticipating denials. “More than enough. This isn’t just another scandal, Sebastian. This is the kind of story that ends dynasties.”
Something flickered across his face—satisfaction mixed with something deeper, more personal. “Do you think your editor will run it?”
“With this evidence? He’d be insane not to.” She closed the file, tapping it against her palm. “But Charles won’t go down without a fight. We need to be prepared for everything—legal threats, character assassination, possibly worse.”
Sebastian’s smile was sharp, almost predatory. “I’m counting on it.”
Harper studied him, seeing the calculation beneath his usual nonchalance. “This isn’t just about exposing corruption for you, is it?”
For a moment, his normal composure slipped, revealing a glimpse of raw determination that made her breath catch. “Does it matter? We both want the same thing.”
“I want the truth,” she said carefully. “What do you want, Sebastian?”
He held her gaze, something electric sparking between them. “Justice. Consequences. An end to the untouchable Hawthorne legacy.” He paused, then added more softly, “Freedom.”
She recognized the look in his eyes—it was the same one she saw in the mirror whenever she was close to breaking a story that mattered.
But then his expression shifted, grew distant.
He was staring past her now, at the weathered stone walls of the courtyard, and she could see something working behind his eyes.
“Sebastian?”
He blinked back to her, but the usual mask felt thinner now. “Sorry, I just—” He ran a hand through his hair. “Sometimes I wonder if I’m just playing another one of his games, you know? Even when I think I’m fighting him.”
Harper leaned forward, her voice quiet but firm. “You don’t have to be what Hawthorne made you.”
Sebastian didn’t answer right away. He let his gaze drift past her again, to where winter light caught the fountain’s spray, perfect and cold.
He remembered the first time he learned exactly what Hawthorne wanted him to be. The careful lessons in manipulation. The way Charles had smiled when Sebastian first used someone’s vulnerability against them, like a father watching his son take his first steps.
Harper was still watching him, her frown deepening, like she could see the memories crawling just beneath his skin.
“The thing is,” Sebastian said finally, his voice quieter than she’d ever heard it, “I’m good at being his weapon. Maybe too good.” He looked at her directly now. “What if that’s all I really know how to be?”
“I don’t believe that,” Harper said without hesitation.
“Why not?”
“Because his weapon wouldn’t be sitting here questioning whether he’s doing the right thing.” She gestured to the file. “Charles’s perfect creation would have found a way to leverage this for power, not hand it over.”
Sebastian felt something tight in his chest loosen slightly. “You really think that?”
“I know it.” Her voice was steady, certain. “You’re not what he made you, Sebastian. You’re what you chose to become despite him.”
He stared at her, this woman who saw through every carefully constructed layer, who challenged him to be better than his worst instincts. The evening light caught in her hair, and he had the dangerous thought that maybe, just maybe, she was right.
Sebastian forced his usual air of effortlessness, the armor he knew too well. But this time it felt different. Lighter. He stood, adjusting his jacket with casual grace.
“When do we run it?” he asked, breaking the tension.
Harper took a deep breath. “It’ll take at least another month to finish verifying everything independently, track down some additional sources for context.
Then we go to print.” She tucked the file securely into her bag and looked up at him suddenly aware of how little space remained between them on the small bench.
Sebastian reached out, his fingers brushing a strand of hair from her face with deliberate slowness. “And when this is over,” he said, his voice low, “when Charles is facing what he’s done… what then?”
The question wrapped around her, awakening new possibilities that were unexpected and tempting. Harper knew the professional answer, the safe answer. But sitting here with him, the city quiet around them and anticipation humming through her veins, she found herself unwilling to give it.
“I guess we’ll find out,” she replied, allowing herself to lean into his touch just slightly.
Sebastian’s eyes darkened, and for a heart-stopping moment, Harper thought he might close the remaining distance between them. Instead, he stood, offering her his hand.
“We will,” he said.
She took his hand, allowing him to pull her to her feet. Their hands remained linked a moment longer than necessary.
“I won’t be long now,” she said, reluctantly withdrawing her hand and buttoning her coat. “Don’t do anything reckless until then.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he replied, his eyes telling a different story entirely.
Harper turned to leave but paused, looking back at him. “Sebastian?”
“Hmm?”
“Thank you. For trusting me with this.”
Something vulnerable flashed across his face before his customary smirk returned. “Don’t thank me yet, Sinclair. The hard part’s still coming.”
She smiled, a genuine one this time. “I’m not scared.”
“I know,” he said softly. “That’s what makes you dangerous.”
Harper walked away, feeling his eyes on her back, the weight of the file in her bag, and the promise of the story to come. They were going to take down Charles Hawthorne. Maybe just a month until everything changed.
Including, perhaps, whatever this was between them.
Sebastian watched her go, the ghost of a smile tugging at his mouth but he still wondered if he could finally break with the past.