Seba’s breath brushed against my skin. His fingers lifted, just barely, like he might close the distance. I didn’t move.
He leaned in close, our breath tangling with one another's, but right before I felt the sweet sensation of his lips touching mine, before the final thread between us snapped—I turned my head, his lips landing at the corner of my mouth instead, barely brushing my skin.
A hitched breath escaped me. The tension between us crackled like a live wire. For a moment, I thought he’d move away. But, he didn’t.
Instead, he let his forehead rest against mine, his breath shallow, like he was barely holding himself together. I could feel it, the restraint, the heat, the weight of everything we weren’t saying, and it destroyed me.
For a long moment, neither of us spoke. Seba exhaled sharply, stepping back, dragging a hand through his hair. Not frustrated, no, Seba had always had patience with me—just trying to steady himself.
When his eyes met mine, his expression shifted. I knew he saw it. My hesitation. My fear. He knew me. Suddenly, he wasn’t looking at me like a man waiting for a kiss, but as someone who knew me, knew everything about me, and knew that something was wrong.
“Mariana…” His voice was softer now, like he was trying not to startle me.
I swallowed hard, forcing my arms around myself, creating a shield. “Don’t,” I whispered.
Seba’s brows furrowed. “Don’t what, Mariana?”
“Just don’t.” I’m silently begging him, please don’t push, don’t ask, don’t see too much. I shook my head. “I can't. I just can’t.”
Seba was silent for a moment, studying me. His jaw clenched, like he wanted to push but was fighting himself not to.
Finally, he nodded. “Okay.”
He stepped back, his eyes lingered, watching me too closely, like he was filing this moment away to pick apart later, and I hated that. I hated that I wasn’t ready to let him in. Not yet.
I didn’t turn until he was gone. When the door shut behind him, I let out a slow, shaky breath. My hands trembled as I braced them against the counter, my pulse hammering too fast, too hard.
Seba wasn’t like him. Seba had never been like him. He will never be like him.
Yet, my body still reacted like it didn’t know the difference. I closed my eyes, pressing my fingers against my temples, breathing through the tightness in my chest.
I should have told him. I should have explained why I stopped. But I wasn’t ready. Saying it out loud would make it real—too real.
The more people who knew, the less I could pretend it wasn’t still haunting me and until I was ready to face it, this thing between us, whatever it was, could never be real.
I stared at my reflection in the small bakery window, the dim light catching on my features. I wasn’t the girl I had been when I left this town—the girl who smiled easily, who moved through life with a lightness I barely remember now.
She was hopeful, full of dreams that felt just within reach. Maybe some part of that girl still lived inside me, buried beneath years of someone I never chose to be. But I wasn’t sure I knew how to find my way back to her.
CHAPTER 16
Sebastian
Ishould leave. I should walk out of here, drive home, take a cold shower, and do anything to shake off the feeling of her, the ghost of her almost kiss still burning on my lips.
But instead, I’m standing in the parking lot of her bakery, hands braced on the roof of my car, breathing like I just got the wind knocked out of me. I guess maybe I did.
For a second, I thought she was going to kiss me. For a moment, I thought she was finally going to let her have this, have me, have us again.
I wanted her so damn bad, but at the last moment, she turned away. She turned me away. The way she physically recoiled, the way her whole body tensed like she wasn’t just afraid but terrified… It felt like a punch to the ribs.
This wasn’t just hesitation; it was something else. Something that I don’t quite understand yet. I can feel it in my bones. I just don’t know if it’s something she’d ever let me understand.
I force myself to move, climbing into the driver’s seat, but I don’t turn the key right away. My hands grip the wheel, my knuckles bone white. I should be angry, frustrated, embarrassed even. But I’m not.
I’m wrecked. The way she pulled away like I’d hurt her, the way she wrapped her arms around herself as if she were holding herself together with every fiber of her being.
There was something in the way her voice shook when she said, “I can’t.” It felt like more than her rejecting me; it felt like she was protecting herself. But from what? From me? I’ve never hurt her. I never would.
