Chapter Seventeen
Jesse
The next couple of weeks blurred together.
Lucy turned out to be a natural at the store, so quick to learn and so good with customers that within days I could trust her on her own.
For the first time in forever, I painted in daylight and slept at night.
Well, mostly slept. Sebastian had a habit of sneaking into my bed almost every evening, which didn’t exactly make for long, uninterrupted rest.
At first, I told myself it was just a fling.
A summer fire destined to burn out. But the embers never cooled.
If anything, the heat between us only built.
I caught myself missing him when he was at work.
By late afternoon, I was checking the clock, scolding myself, and then checking it again anyway, like some teenager waiting for her crush to call.
Some nights we cooked together, some we ordered takeout and stayed in.
One evening he even took me to a fancy restaurant, but halfway through the night—trussed up in a little black dress and pinching heels—I realized I preferred our cozy apartment.
Eating out was overrated. We’d rather stay home, trash-talking each other over Call of Duty or arguing about movies.
Like last night, when we watched Dracula ‘92.
“I’m just saying,” Sebastian said around a mouthful of popcorn, “it hasn’t been scientifically disproven. Vampires show up in almost every culture throughout history. There has to be a reason.”
I gave him a palms-up. “Of course there’s a reason—people trying to explain stuff they didn’t understand. Porphyria, catalepsy, take your pick. They didn’t have doctors, so they invented the living dead who burn in sunlight.”
He scoffed. “Okay, Myth Buster. What about drinking blood?”
“Easy. A few mysterious deaths, some animal attacks, and boom—you’ve got legends. Some warrior tribes drank blood to honor their dead, even ate hearts.” I wrinkled my nose. “Add in a little primitive superstition, and suddenly you’ve got vampires and chupacabras running around in the dark.”
Sebastian laughed and hauled me onto his lap, scattering popcorn. “You always have an answer, don’t you, smartass?” His voice dropped, warm and wicked. “I can think of a more pleasant kind of sucking.”
I squirmed, goosebumps rising as he pressed his mouth to my neck, his tongue teasing the skin.
He paused, looking at me with mock seriousness. “Speaking of which, what blood type are you?”
“O negative,” I said. “Pretty rare. You?”
His eyes widened. “You’re kidding. I’m O negative too.”
I blinked, stunned. “What are the odds?”
He lifted my hand to his lips, his gaze never leaving mine. “In math, two negatives make a positive. We must be soul mates, Princess.”
My God. It struck me. He was going to have that boyish smile even when he was eighty.
He was that kind of person, that kind of optimist, advocate, fighter, and believer in change.
He wasn’t only a dreamer, but a doer. He was the future.
At that moment, it struck me that Sebastian should have kids to keep that spark alive and make the world a better place.
For a second, I imagined myself carrying his children.
The thought shocked me so hard I nearly choked on my popcorn. I had never, ever wanted that. Marriage, children—no thank you. Watching my parents had been enough proof that love didn’t last. So what the hell was this man doing to my hormones and my brain?
I jumped up, using the need for a popcorn refill to put some distance between us.
“Soul mates are just another myth,” I said casually.
Sebastian’s gaze was intent on mine, his smile barely there anymore. “Based on what?”
I shrugged. “Hormones.”
I really thought I was right.
* * *
Sebastian usually woke up first, kissing my forehead before sneaking upstairs to get ready for work. Sometimes I woke with him, and mornings turned into slow, hungry, intimate sex. And the nights… God, the nights. If I hadn’t fixed my AC, we might’ve burned down the whole building.
The girls teased me that I’d forgotten all about them now that I had a boyfriend—which, annoyingly, wasn’t far from the truth.
With every spare minute poured into Sebastian or my exhibit, there wasn’t much left for girl time.
Sue came back from her honeymoon recharged and glowing; Lily was her usual composed self, dropping by for quick coffee breaks or half-hour visits in my studio, never overstaying because she knew I needed the focus.
I hadn’t seen Ange or Nikki in weeks, though we texted.
Sue told me Cam had started ribbing Sebastian, saying he was too whipped to grab a beer with the guys anymore.
Apparently, the gym had gone from five visits a week to three. Honestly, I wasn’t complaining.
Most of my energy went into my art. Oils, acrylics, pastels, watercolors, charcoal, Conté—if I could use it, I did. Some projects stretched for hours, others days, but deadlines didn’t care. That’s why I leaned on acrylics: quick-drying, demanding speed.
One by one, my pieces made their way to the gallery.
I changed the arrangements a dozen times, pacing the floor like some temperamental, half-mad artist. By then, my nerves were shredded.
I snapped at people more than once—not because I was nervous anymore, but because I was exhausted.
At some point, fatigue simply smothers anxiety.
Two days before the opening, I loaded my battered truck with the last three pieces I’d finished. Malcom practically beamed when he saw them. The man had been a saint through all my fits these past weeks.
I’d ended up with several collections, but my favorite was Women of New York.
It had started innocently, as fashion-style sketches of my girlfriends.
I’d decided to gift each of them with her portrait, but the idea stuck.
Soon I had a dozen more—elegant, sensual sketches of stylish women, each one unique.
“They’re stunning.” Malcom held each sketch at arm’s length, turning them toward the light.
“These will fly off the walls. People can hang them anywhere—bedrooms, offices, nail salons, boutiques. Brilliant!” His eyes twinkled as he looked at me.
“I’ve always pegged you as a feminist. These women in power suits and sky-high heels definitely carry that attitude. ”
I swiped sweat from my forehead. My paint-stained cutoffs and snarky T-shirt with I’m not anti-social, I’m anti-stupid spelled on it weren’t exactly gallery chic.
“I don’t know about that.” I chuckled. “I’m a special type of feminist, the kind who pays her own way, enjoys kissing my guy’s feet as well as his ass, but still expects him to behave like a gentleman, open the door for me, and let me step into the elevator first.”
Malcom barked a laugh. “Fair enough. You are special, Jesse. I’ll give you that.”
Once we had everything arranged, he took my hands, his smile warm. “This is a spectacular collection. The exhibit is going to be incredible.”
I exhaled, squeezing his fingers. “God, I hope so. I’ve invited everyone I know, and their friends. Lily has a patient who’s a journalist, so we might even get a little press.”
“Don’t worry about that,” he said, smug. “There was already an announcement in the New York Times last week.”
I blinked. “What? I didn’t see it.”
“You’ve been buried in deadlines. But trust me, the word is out.”
Gratitude caught me off guard. “Thank you, Malcom. You’ve been a saint through all this chaos.”
“It’s an honor. Have you prepared your speech?”
I gulped. “Sort of. Don’t worry, I won’t embarrass the gallery.”
His doubtful look nearly made me laugh, but before I could tease him, my phone rang. It was Sebastian.
“Sorry, I need to take this.” I waved goodbye as I rushed out.
“Hi, Princess.” Sebastian’s voice came bright and sunny through the line. God, I loved that about him—he was a walking ray of optimism.
“Hey. Just dropped off the last pieces at the gallery.”
“Good girl. How about you pick me up from work?”
“Sure. Want to grab food after?”
“Yeah, but…” He hesitated.
I narrowed my eyes. “What?”
“Well,” he said carefully, “I was thinking we could eat out. And maybe… meet my sister for a drink. She really wants to meet you.”
He sounded as though he was holding his breath. I looked down at myself and sighed.
“Sebastian, I’m in my work clothes. I can’t meet your sister like this.”
“Don’t worry, she won’t care. It’s only a drink, not a gala. We’ll go to Rumors.” He named the neighborhood bar where the girls and I used to grab cocktails after work.
I rubbed a hand over my face as I walked toward the garage, the heavy summer air baking my skin. “I don’t know. Can’t I just go home and change first? Please?”
He hesitated. “I sort of promised Jan we’d meet her in an hour. I didn’t think it would be a problem.”
I rolled my eyes so hard I nearly tripped. “Of course you didn’t. Men never think about this stuff. You splash water on your face, rake a hand through your hair, and call it done. Meanwhile, I look like an extra from a bad construction commercial.”
He chuckled, clearly not repentant. “Um… I’m sorry?”
“Like hell you are.” I snorted. “You called me instead of telling me in person because you knew I’d strangle you if you tried this ambush face-to-face.”
“Exactly.” His grin was audible.
“Crap.” I blew out a breath. “Fine. Text me the address.”
Traffic was a nightmare around Columbia.
By the time I’d circled the block near 112th Street for the third time, I could write my autobiography entirely in curses.
Finally, I spotted Sebastian waiting outside the GISS building on Broadway, sleeves rolled up, tie loosened, backpack slung over his shoulder.
Students streamed past, taxis honked, and he looked aggravatingly good for someone who hadn’t spent the last hour stuck in gridlock.
He slid into the passenger seat, leaning over to kiss my temple. “Thanks for picking me up.”