It really wasn’t.
It wasn’t him paying—it was the way it felt normal. Like this was how it could work for us. He’d grab the groceries; I’d cover the hardware store run. No discussion. No scorekeeping. Just life. I could see myself doing this with him in a way I’d never been able to picture it with anyone else.
The thought left behind a bittersweet ache—like I was missing something I’d never actually had.
“Man, I could get used to this.” Sebastian turned his face up toward the sun.
I stared at him, his words landing hard. They were too close to my own thoughts to be comfortable.
I absolutelycouldget used to this, and that was dangerous. We were slipping into something easy without stopping to consider what came next.
We had two weeks, and then what?
“As opposed to?” I asked, keeping my tone light despite the knot forming in my gut.
He opened his eyes and turned toward me. “In D.C., I’m always on. Aware of who’s watching, who might recognize me, what everything looks like to the not-so-casual observer.” He shook his head. “But here? Nobody knows me. Nobody cares if I’m talking to this person or that. No one is trying to interpret every word I say for hidden meaning. I can just … be.”
The relief in his voice made that knot in my gut twist, even as I heard myself say, “You can always just be with me.”
He looked at me for a long moment. “I’m starting to remember that.” He smiled then, but it wasn’t a happy sort of look. In fact, it appeared almost sad as he opened the door and settled into the passenger seat.
“Yeah, me too,” I whispered before sliding behind the wheel.
Back at the house, Sebastian took over my kitchen, unpacking and sorting our groceries while I sat at the counter and watched.
“Are you sure you don't want me to do anything?” I asked for the second time.
“You can go start the grill,” he said, looking up from the steaks he was unwrapping. “And maybe find me a cutting board and a halfway decent knife?”
I pushed away from the counter and rummaged through the drawer until I found my sharpest chef’s knife—which, admittedly, wasn't all that sharp. I set it on the counter next to the cutting board anyway, and Sebastian picked it up to test the weight and balance.
“This’ll work, but just barely.” He pulled the asparagus toward him and started trimming the ends with quick, precise cuts.
I headed out to the deck to scrape down the grill and check the propane. When I came back inside, Sebastian had moved on to mincing garlic, the knife rocking against the board.
“Where’d you learn to do that?” I asked, gesturing at his hands.
“YouTube, mostly.” He scraped the garlic into a bowl and grabbed the basil. “Turns out when you’re single and tired of eating takeout every night, you learn to cook.”
“I never did.”
He huffed out a quiet laugh. “I’m aware. By the way, this knife is terrible.”
“Hey, at least I have one.”
“Singular.” He looked up, flashing me a wide grin before going back to rolling the basil leaves into a tight tube and slicing them into thin ribbons. “One I’m guessing you’ve never had professionally sharpened.”
“Wait. There are people who do that?”
Sebastian’s hands stilled mid-cut. He looked up at me, eyebrows raised, his expression caught between disbelief and amusement. “Taylor.”
“I’m kidding. Mostly.”
I opened the fridge and grabbed two beers, twisting the caps off and sliding one across the counter toward him. “So, what’s the plan here?”
“While you’re on steak duty, I’m going to finish making this caprese and arugula salad, since apparently you need me to introduce you to the concept of eating your vegetables like a big boy.”
“I eat veggies.”
