Chapter Thirteen #2
I spotted one of my paintings on the wall opposite the desk—an autumn scene done in oil.
It was one of the few paintings I’d done in an impressionist style.
Close up, it looked like a sea of random colorful spots, but from a distance it became a dark, deserted alley and a couple walking close together in the rain.
The man was holding a yellow umbrella, angled protectively over the woman.
I smiled, remembering the painting. It was among the first pieces I’d sold when I’d started my website. I’d always wondered who’d bought it. Back then, I didn’t know Sebastian, and seeing his name on an invoice wouldn’t have meant anything. Now I knew the painting had reached Mr. Wright.
“Do you have a preference for salad dressing?”
Sebastian’s voice broke the spell. I blinked and called back, “Nope, surprise me.”
I wandered back into the kitchen just in time to see him tearing romaine leaves into a bowl.
I took another sip of wine and leaned against the doorframe. “Look at you, Chef Sebastian. You’d make a good husband for a lucky wifey.”
It was meant to be a harmless tease, but something shifted in his expression. His smile dimmed, and for a second, his hands stilled.
“I don’t know if I’ll try that again,” he said softly.
I blinked. “Again? Are you telling me you’ve been married?”
He shook his head. “No. But I was almost engaged.”
The words hung in the air, as surprising as they were sobering.
Wow. Sebastian had been engaged? To be married? I couldn’t wrap my head around that notion.
“So… why aren’t you married?”
A muscle tightened in his cheek. I wanted to punch myself in the head. How could I be so tactless? I always said the wrong thing, which made me look insensitive instead of the socially awkward idiot that I was.
“Because she said no,” Sebastian replied, not looking at me. “In front of about fifty people.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.” Mental slap. And another one for Sebastian’s ex. How could she do that? Why would she say no to a man like Sebastian? In public!
Sebastian shrugged, chopping parsley. “It was for the best. We were both too young for marriage. She realized it first. I’m grateful now that we didn’t go through with it. It would’ve ended badly.”
I didn’t dare ask any more questions, but Sebastian sensed my curiosity. Either that, or he felt the need to tell me more.
“We were both at MIT.” He sprinkled parsley over the lettuce and reached for a red bell pepper. “After a couple months of dating, her parents decided I wasn’t good enough. My sister, Janine, hated her too. She said Lara was reckless, that she’d pull me off course.”
“Was she right?” I asked softly.
“Yeah.” He smiled lopsidedly. “Jan was right. Lara was an adrenaline junkie—motorcycles, booze, skydiving, ecstasy, you name it. She wanted to burn bright and fast. And I... I guess I was drawn to the fire.”
His voice was calm, but there was weight beneath the words—a gravity that had nothing to do with physics.
I didn’t push for more. I just stood there, wine glass in hand, staring at this man who made software that measured drought and who once fell for a storm.
He picked up his story with a soft, self-deprecating sigh.
“Her parents threatened to cut her off if she didn’t dump me, and I was constantly fighting with Jan about it.
So, in a moment of pure genius, I decided the best way to hold it all together was to propose.
I bought a cheap ring, took her to this cozy little restaurant, got down on one knee, like an idiot from a rom-com. ”
He smiled without humor. “She freaked out. She couldn’t say yes. She wasn’t ready. She said marriage would be a mistake. So I drove her home and we haven’t really spoken since.”
I stayed quiet, which was rare for me. What could I possibly say? Sorry your first attempt at love crashed and burned spectacularly? Sorry she gutted you in public and left you with emotional Teflon?
Suddenly, so many things made sense—his allergic reaction to commitment, the casual hookups, the way he seemed to hover at the edges of emotional intimacy like someone who’d once gotten burned just by standing too close to the flame.
God, I could’ve strangled that woman. Lara. She’d taken what was probably a kind, bright-eyed young Sebastian and turned him into a man who didn’t believe in anything lasting.
But I couldn’t say any of that out loud. I couldn’t express the rage, the pity… The pity disguised as rage.
Instead, I reached for the truth he could actually hear.
“I’m sorry that happened to you, Sebastian. But I’m glad you didn’t marry her.”
“So am I.”
His eyes met mine, and the air was suddenly charged with everything we weren’t yet able to say. I looked at him—not just the way his shirt hugged his round, strong shoulders or the precise way he sliced vegetables, but the whole of him. The version of him most people never saw.
I enjoyed this Sebastian more than I’d thought I would. Getting to know him, layer by layer, was more interesting than all of his books.
He turned to the stove, grabbed a frying pan, and drizzled oil into it before switching on the burner.
“What about you?” he asked casually. “Ever come close to getting married?”
The oil sizzled as he laid the chicken breast in the pan, filling the air with the heavenly scent of frying meat.
I shook my head with a soft laugh. “Hell no. I doubt I’ll ever try that, even if I find a guy who appreciates my... unique skill set.”
His teeth flashed white. “Only an idiot wouldn’t appreciate your skills. Why so opposed to marriage?”
I could see the moment it dawned on him. He closed his mouth and glanced down at his bare feet.
I spared him the embarrassment by keeping my tone breezy.
“Let’s just say neither of my parents was what you’d call ‘marriage material.’ I’ve never really seen a version of marriage I’d want to replicate.
I mean, I know happy couples exist—just like exoplanets.
Fascinating to study from a distance, but not exactly on my itinerary. ”
He chuckled, appreciation glinting in his eyes. “I get that. After Lara, I stopped chasing the fairytale too. Learned that the best things tend to show up when you’re not looking. In the meantime, why not enjoy the hell out of every day?”
I raised my glass. “Cheers to that.”
Fifteen minutes later, we were seated at the table, and Sebastian was refilling my glass. I didn’t need the wine to feel warm and floaty—the food was doing a fine job on its own.
“I wonder if my kitchen could pull this off,” I said around a mouthful, savoring the flavor. The chicken was tender enough to melt on my tongue, with a blend of herbs and pepper that tasted of Heaven.
Sebastian chuckled as he cut into his chicken. “The kitchen can, with the right cook.”
“Then you’ll have to christen mine one day, Mr. Wright.”
“I’d love to.” His eyes sparkled, and the mischievous tilt of his mouth made the words sound like a promise. “By the way, how’d it go with your potential client today?”
“Ben? Fantastic. We struck a deal.” I gave him a quick rundown of the project while spearing a forkful of the salad he’d plated as though he was auditioning for Top Chef. Who knew veggies could taste like actual food?
“I start in two weeks, right after the art exhibit,” I finished. “The only catch is, I need to hire someone for the store ASAP.”
“You posted an ad?”
“Yep. Now I just need a miracle in work boots.”
His face turned thoughtful as he chewed a bite of potato, brows furrowed. “I wish I knew someone. Sorry.”
“No worries.” I waved it off, trying to keep the optimism alive. “Worst case, I close the shop for a while and focus on this commission. I can’t afford to miss out. If this guy refers me to just a few of his friends, I might actually kiss my student debt goodbye soon.”
“Wow. What’s this magical art-loving unicorn’s name?”
“Benjamin McFarlane the Third.”
Sebastian let out a low whistle. “The Third, huh? Sounds pompous. Never heard of him.”
I laughed. “Neither had I, until today. Apparently, he’s filthy rich, though not by any personal achievement.”
Sebastian smirked. “The third ones rarely are. Unless there’s a crown involved, numbering your kids feels like a surefire way to stunt their personalities. Like, ‘Here’s your name, your legacy, and your predetermined destiny—good luck breaking out of that.’”
I chewed thoughtfully. “Yeah, I had this guy named Junior in high school. Hated it so much, he legally changed it the second he turned twenty-one.”
“What’d he change it to?”
“Marilyn. The name wasn’t the only thing he changed.”
Sebastian grinned. “Well, it sure sounds better than Junior.”
“Definitely looked better, too. He used to say his father’s shadow crushed him from birth. And that it all started with not getting a name of his own.”
When we finished eating, I insisted on clearing the table, but Sebastian helped anyway. The meal had been perfect—flavorful, satisfying, just enough to hit every craving without leaving me in a food coma.
“I didn’t have time to make dessert,” Sebastian said, rinsing a plate and sliding it into the dishwasher. “But I can whip up some cream, and I’ve got fresh strawberries.”
Our eyes met.
Was it my imagination, or did that pause last just a second too long? Did he mean the whipped cream only for strawberries?
Because my brain was absolutely not keeping things innocent anymore.