28. Sebastian
Sebastian
The click of the lock behind us sends electricity through the air. Flick’s hands find my shoulders, her fingers curling into the fabric of my shirt as she rises on her toes. I meet her halfway, our lips connecting with a need that’s been building since we left the shop.
It felt like it took forever to get from Knit Happens to my place. And the only reason we’re here and not at her condo is because this was closer.
“God, I’ve missed this,” she breathes against my mouth. “Missed you.”
I press her gently against the door, one hand bracing against the wood while the other finds her waist. “It’s been too long.”
“Upstairs,” she whispers against my mouth, her voice a husky command that sends my pulse racing.
We stumble over each other’s feet in our haste, leaving a breadcrumb trail of clothes as we climb the steps. Her skin glows under the soft hallway light, eyes dark with desire.
By the time we reach my bedroom, it feels like we’re the only two people left in the universe. The world outside these walls has ceased to exist. It’s just us, passion, and urgency riding us hard in our want for each other.
Flick sits on the edge of the bed, pulling me toward her. My hands move of their own accord, gliding over her shoulders and down her arms.
She scoots back on the bed and reaches her hand out to me, and I join her, the contours of our bodies melding together in perfect harmony.
This scenario, this moment… This is it .
Pure perfection.
Shifting to the side, I cup her face. “I love you, Flick.”
She kisses my palm. “I love you, Sebastian.”
I grin, realizing that I’m expecting Cat to come in meowing and ruin the moment. We’re at my place, though—which is odd. We’ll probably need to go over to Flick’s in a bit to check on Cat and feed her.
Maybe one day, there won’t be any shuffling back and forth, though. Maybe it’ll be me, Flick, and Cat, all living together under one roof.
“What are you smiling about?” Flick teases.
“Just thinking,” I admit. “About everything.”
She traces her finger along the planes of my chest. “Anything you want to share?”
“I’m glad that we made it back here. To us.”
She lays her head on my shoulder and places her palm over my heart. “Me, too.”
We should move. There are still things to be done. But there’s something about this moment, the peacefulness—the way she fits perfectly against me—that makes me want to freeze time.
Flick’s stomach growls loudly, breaking the spell. We both laugh.
“When did you last eat?” I ask, smoothing a strand of hair behind her ear.
“Um...” She bites her lip, thinking. “Breakfast? Maybe?”
“Flick.”
“I know, I know. I got caught up dyeing that new batch. The color wasn’t coming out right, and then I lost track of time, and then I had to get to the shop...”
I step back, taking her hand. “Come on. Let’s see what I’ve got.”
“But—”
“No arguments. Doctor’s orders.”
She rolls her eyes but lets me lead her toward the kitchen. “You’re not that kind of doctor.”
“Close enough.” We head back downstairs and picking up our trail of clothes as we go. I flip on the lights, illuminating the sterile expanse of my barely-used kitchen. “Fair warning, my refrigerator situation is pretty sad.”
“How sad are we talking?”
I’ve been kind of negligent in ordering a delivery this week, so I’m not expecting much of a selection. I’ve been eating at the clinic or grabbing takeout, since I haven’t been spending time with Flick.
I open it, revealing leftover Chinese takeout containers, a questionable apple, and what might have once been lettuce. “Judge for yourself.”
Flick peers around me, her body warm against my back. “Oh, Sebastian. This is tragic.” She shakes her head. “Let’s order pizza. We’ll deal with your pathic refrigerator later.”
“Sounds good to me.”
She’s already pulling out her phone. “What do you want on it?”
“Surprise me.”
While she orders, I grab us both water and find plates that haven’t been used in months. The domesticity of it makes something loosen in my chest. This is what I’ve been missing. Not just someone to share space with, but someone who makes that space feel alive.
“Twenty minutes,” she announces, hopping up to sit on my counter. The marble is probably cold through her jeans, but she doesn’t seem to mind. “So, tour while we wait?”
“You’ve seen most of it already.”
“Not properly. Come on.” She slides back down, grabbing my hand. “Show me where Dr. Sebastian Blum really lives.”
The truth is, I don’t really live here. I exist here.
Sleep here. Store my clothes here. But as I walk her through the rooms—the living room with its uncomfortable modern furniture Jessica picked out, the dining room I never use, the home office that’s just another place to work—I see it all through Flick’s eyes.
“It’s very...” She pauses in the hallway, studying the blank walls. “Clean.”
“You’ve said that before, you know.” I huff out a laugh that sounds strangled. “You can say sterile. It won’t hurt my feelings.”
“I was going for diplomatic.” She stops at a closed door. “What’s in here?”
“Guest room. Nothing interesting.”
But she’s already opening it, and I remember too late what’s in there. Boxes. At least a dozen of them, stacked against one wall. All the things from my marriage that I couldn’t throw away but couldn’t stand to look at either.
Flick glances back at me, reading something in my expression. “We don’t have to?—”
“It’s fine.” The words come out rougher than intended. “Just... storage.”
She closes the door without asking questions, and I love her even more for it. Instead, she leads me back downstairs, past the kitchen, to the sliding door that opens onto the deck.
“Now this,” she says, stepping outside, “this has potential.”
The deck overlooks a small backyard that’s more weeds than grass. The previous owners left behind a garden bed that’s now just dirt and the skeletal remains of some climbing plant on a trellis.
“I keep meaning to do something with it,” I admit, joining her at the railing.
“What would you plant?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never had a garden. My parents did all that at their place.” I wrap my arms around her from behind, resting my chin on her shoulder. “What would you plant?”
“Herbs, definitely. Basil, rosemary, thyme. Maybe some flowers for Cat to destroy.” She leans back against me. “We could put a little table out here. String up some lights.”
“We?”
She tenses slightly. “I mean, if you wanted help. I didn’t mean to assume?—”
“Flick.” I turn her in my arms so she’s facing me. “I want you to assume. I want you to plan gardens and grocery lists and whatever else comes to mind.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” I cup her face gently. “I want you to make this place feel less like a house and more like?—”
The doorbell rings, cutting me off.
“Pizza’s here,” Flick says, but she’s smiling like she knows exactly what I was about to say.
We eat sitting on the living room floor, the coffee table between us, because it feels less formal than the dining room and more us than the kitchen island.
Flick tells me about a custom order that’s driving her crazy—someone wants yarn that looks like a sunset but “not too orange, not too pink, with hints of purple but not actually purple.”
“So basically impossible?”
“Basically.” She steals a piece of pepperoni from my slice. “But I’ll figure it out. I always do.”
We finish eating in comfortable silence, then clear the boxes away together. Flick hums while she washes the plates—something she does without thinking, these little melodies that follow her around. I dry and put away, marveling at how natural this feels. How right.
“We should probably go check on Cat,” I say once the kitchen is clean.
“Probably wise. No telling what the little terror has destroyed in my absence.”
We grab our things, and I lock up the house that already feels less empty than it did this morning. As we drive to Flick’s place, she slips her hand into mine and smiles across the console and a feeling of rightness settles over me in the silence of the drive.
“Hey,” she says as we reach her condo. “What were you going to say earlier? Before the pizza came?”
I stop on her doorstep, turning to face her under the glow of the porch light. “I was going to say I want you to make my place feel less like a house and more like home. Because that’s what you do, Flick. You make everywhere feel like home.”
Her eyes glisten. “You do the same for me.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” She leans up and kisses me, then pulls me inside.
And as the door closes, the sound of Cat’s indignant meowing greets us from the kitchen. As I watch the little gray blur rush towards us, I realize how badly I’ve missed this. And I realize home isn’t a place at all.
It’s this. It’s us.
It’s everything.