Back in my house, I went over color palettes, got back to the bakery vendor about our breakfast baskets, ensuring he send extras for the workers, and replied to an email from a repeat guest who wanted their same cabin “but with less direct sunlight.” Whatever the hell that meant.
After a few more payroll and accounting emails, I finally flopped my laptop onto the couch, spoke to my my mom and Alan, who insisted on being on speaker, like a joint press conference, and usually wasted half the call arguing over what I’d actually said.
Alan was my mom’s partner—soft-spoken, polite, the kind of man who wore cardigans in summer. They’d met five years ago in a doctor’s waiting room, which was about as romantic as a flu shot. A decade older, widowed, grown kids of his own, I suspected they’d picked each other because it was better than growing old alone. That wasn’t love. That was two people choosing company over quiet. Maybe, in a way, that was her version of friends with benefits.
Exhausted, I opened the group chat.“How’s everyone?”I texted.
Evangeline replied first, as always.“I’m okay here. Two bridal orders due Friday, but nothing unmanageable. You?”
“Sorry for cutting back on my orders, Evie.”
“Are you kidding? Get the inn readyfirst.”
“About that ... things went south, but Sebastian showed up to help.”
Rio appeared right then.“Omg. WHAT. Wait. Explain.”
“The contractor tried to screw me over.”
“So Seb came in like some engineer Batman?”Rio wrote.
I never called him Seb or Seba. Always Sebastian. Even when I moaned and screamed his name.
“He prefers Superman. Not Snyder’s version. But yeah.”
“We don’t understand the ins and outs of your Marvel geekiness,”Eve wrote.
“That’s DC, even I know that,”Rio replied with a winking emoji.
“Anyway, he’s literally doing recalculations now. I don’t even know how to thank him.”
A row of emojis came in from Rio—laughing tears, then water drops, a peach, an eggplant, and a tongue.“Sure you do,”she added.
“Haha,”I typed back.“That goes without saying. But you know what I mean.”
“Nope, we really don’t,”Evangeline wrote.“Wanna send him a bouquet?”
“He’s not her grandmother,”a fourth name popped in.
“Daphne!!”Pretty much all three of us typed at once.
“Sorry I missed the whole saga. Things were ... rough. I’m here, though.”
“Don’t worry, babe. Take care of yourself first,”I typed.
We knew better than to ask Daphne about work over text.
And since none of them pressed further about Sebastian—though Iknewthey were dying to—I figured they’d save the grilling for our next face-to-face.
An hour later, I called him.
“You decent?” I asked, the phone pressed to my ear.
His dry, tired, husky chuckle hit me right between my legs. “I have a full draft and three backups,” he said. “Come see.”
By the time I made it to his cabin, the sky was pitch black, broken only by the brush of deep blue the half-moon left behind. The nearby ocean and the crickets seemed to compete over who’d lull the world to sleep first. I knocked once and stepped inside without waiting.
Sebastian was sitting in the yellow armchair I remembered buying—soft cushioning, deep, with wide armrests. His laptop rested on his thighs. The tray I’d brought earlier sat empty on the desk beside him, save for the crumpled soda can and a half-eaten slice of pie.
