Teresa laughs, too focused on him to note my reaction. “Well, we’ll miss Emma horribly when you steal her away. She’s helped so many of us in this building over the years.”
“Oh shush. I haven’t done much. And you’ve thanked me plenty with your amazing muffins. Plus, I’m not going anywhere anytime soon,” I say, with a pointed look at my now-ex-boss.
Teresa glances at her phone and grimaces. “Shit, I’ll be late for my shift. B-bye, it was nice to meet you,” she says with a blush before rushing past us down the hall.
Sebastian’s steady gaze makes me squirm. “So apparently, you don’t just organizeme. You organize everyone around you.”
I shrug. “It’s what I’m good at. And they return the favor. I know you think this building is in a rough neighborhood. And, well, maybe not all the tenants are in law-abiding professions. But most of us try to take care of each other.”
I return to searching for my keys, grateful for the distraction. When I finally find them, I open my door. Sebastian follows me into my tiny apartment.
When I step into my living room, I can feel myself relax. It may be loud and not exactly luxurious, but it’s mine. And at least Sebastian’s already seen it, so I don’t have to worry about him judging me like he did the first time he was here.
All I want is to crawl into my pajamas and sleep. But first, I have a movie star to kick out.
“Well. Thanks for the ride. I appreciate it. But now you need to go.”
He sets my bag on the floor by my sofa and looks up. I know that stubborn expression. It’s the one he uses when he knows what he wants and intends to get it, despite any opposition. It makes me nervous because I know better than most that when he has a goal, he almost always gets his way.
Ignoring my not-so-subtle suggestion, he saunters into the kitchen and peers into cupboards. He opens my fridge and frowns before closing it.
I huff out a breath. The wave of exhaustion from my pounding head makes me even more impatient. “What are you looking for?”
“You’re due to take your medicine, so you have to eat something.”
“Believe it or not, Icanfeed myself. I’ve been doing it for years.”
Sebastian gives me a grim smile. “What are you going to eat? Your refrigerator contains energy drinks, coffee creamer, three chocolate bars, a bottle of hot sauce, and assorted moisturizers.”
“Skin care is important. And I’ll grab a bowl of cereal.”
“There’s no milk.”
“I eat it dry. It keeps the little marshmallows from getting soggy.”
He shakes his head. “I called my nutritionist. She said you should eat vegetables, protein, and healthy fats to manage your blood sugar. You can’t live on caffeine and sweets.”
I cross my arms and glare at him. It’s not a pleasant feeling to be judged by Sebastian when I’m usually the judgy one in our relationship.
He pulls out his phone and makes a call. “Hey, Duncan. I need you to get Emma and me some takeout. Get something for yourself as well. No, I have no idea where. Research it. Maybe tuna. No, wait. She hates fish. Chicken. And make sure whatever you get comes with a big salad or vegetables.”
That he remembers I hate fish softens me somewhat. I know he’s trying to help, in his own bull-in-a-china-shop way. “Sebastian, remember when we talked about crossing lines?” Even to myself, I sound tired. Because I am, dammit. I don’thave the energy to resist him. But I also don’t understand why he’s still here or what he wants.
He hangs up the phone and grabs my bag, taking the scant few steps to my bedroom. Like the rest of the apartment, it’s small. But I’ve made it as inviting as possible. Having such a busy brain means that I sometimes struggle with insomnia. So, I’ve tried to make my bedroom a refuge. Sadie painted the wall that my bed is against with a mural of cherry blossoms. I paired it with crisp, high-thread-count cotton sheets I got at a deep discount from an outlet shop. It was still a splurge, but I love the sheets. I’d marry them if I could.
Sebastian prowls the room, his sharp eyes not missing any detail. He picks up a book, turns it over, and smiles.
“Marie Kondo, why am I not surprised?”
I shrug. “She sparks joy.”
He sets it down and peers at a photo of my dad, my sister, and me that was taken a few years ago when he’d returned to California for a visit.
When he’s done inspecting my private space, he murmurs, “Not what I expected, Em.”
“What did you expect?”
“I don’t know. Something more… practical.”
