Shaking the bag again, he said, "This isn't trail mix. It's the discard pile from the bulk bins at a health food store."
I grabbed for the bag but he held it out of reach. "Thanks for weighing in but your opinion is irrelevant."
He pushed to his feet and paced away from the table. "Are any of my opinions relevant to you? Ever?"
He stood facing the wall of bookshelves, his back to me. With his head cocked to the side, it seemed like he was reading the spines but I couldn't be sure. I couldn't pry any meaning from the depth and grooves of his scowl either.
"When it comes to what I eat? No." I glanced at Milana, urging her with my eyeballs to do something. Make him sit down. Make him finish the puzzle. Make him stay on topic and out of my personal life.
Her brows arched up and she held outthis is the process, trust the processhands.
"You don't see me registering my opinions on your choices," I continued. "I don't care if you want to put the edges together first and I don't care if you hate dried cranberries. I happen to love them but I only eat, like, five every few days and I savor those five cranberries. I save them for last and I am not interested in hearing any noise about it. Is that all right with you, Dr. Stremmel?"
He rounded the coffee table and sat on the edge of the sofa. He held out the bag. "You have the weirdest snacks in the world. It's disturbing."
I looked into the bag. Four crinkly little cranberries sat on one side, the nuts and other bits on the other. The raisins were gone.
I jerked my head up, over to the bookshelves, searching and searching for some explanation. Then I noticed the wastebasket beside the shelves. He'd sorted out the raisins for me.
"Why?" It was just a whisper.
Sebastian gave a single shake of his head. His elbows were on his thighs, his gaze on the puzzle.
"Why?" I repeated.
His shoulders lifted in a great heave. "I was tired of watching you paw at that bag. Not the first time I've saved you from yourself. Not the first time you've instructed me to fuck off while doing it."
Did that make this the last time? Or just one in a series of next times?
"We are just about at the end of our time for today." Milana gently clapped her hands together and lavished a warm grin on the partially excavated puzzle. "For your homework this week—"
"Not unless we can agree on reducing the total number of sessions," Sebastian interrupted.
She shook her head, that warm grin unfazed. "I haven't made a decision on that yet." She passed each of us a half sheet of paper. "I'd like you to arrive at this location at seven on Sunday morning."
"Way to choose violence, Milana," he murmured. He sounded jocular, almost friendly. Like he teased people every day and he could do it without being a dickhead. "Will you be joining us on Sunday morning? It would be good of you to come along, don't you think? Or should I call you to let you know we've arrived at the location? At seven? On Sunday morning?"
"I trust you to handle this on your own, Sebastian."
She crossed to the door, holding it open in a clear signal for us to get the fuck out.
Sebastian was closest and exited without further discussion. He was halfway down the hall and moving at a pace that said he had places to be. The door to the stairwell banged behind him and I had toflydown the first set of stairs to catch up.
"Would you just slow down for a second?" My voice echoed off the cinderblock walls.
I reached for his elbow as he made the turn at the landing. Instead of stopping, he backed me against the wall, his fingers splayed over my hip, his thumb an inch or two away from locations deemed not safe for work.
He stared at me, his eyes dark and his scowl forcing his lips into a pout that was a dash too aggressive to be attractive and digging rivers and tributaries into his brow.
"Something you need, Shap?"
That thumb drew circles over my scrubs, around and around as we stared at each other. I'd followed him for a reason but I couldn't find it now. I couldn't find anything but the firm press of his fingers and the way my skin just melted in response. That was it—Imelted. I was hot and soft and everything inside me felt pliable, like he could shape me any way he wanted and nothing about it could ever be wrong.
"Speak words, screech owl," he rumbled.
All I could come up with was a jerky shake of my head. Sebastian watched me through those ridiculous lashes, his scowl softening in microscopic increments as he studied me.
"Shap," he warned, bringing his other hand to the back of my neck. He stroked his fingers along my windpipe.
