Crocheted ones on the end tables. On the arms of the couch. Under the houseplants. One balancing precariously on a lamp I was ninety percent sure was a fire hazard. A ceramic Virgin Mary watched over the living room from the top shelf beside dozens of people I'd never met.
And there—already perched on the floral couch like she'd been placed there by a museum curator—was Candace.
Wearing a sleek, semi-formal plum satin dress that hugged her shoulders and caught the warm lamplight like she was attending a gala—not Sunday dinner in a house decorated entirely in lace doilies and Catholic guilt.
Her ankles were crossed too tightly.
Her hands folded neatly in her lap.
She looked like a ballerina dropped into a Hallmark movie set.
And right beside her—like the universe's idea of a punchline—sat Sebastian.
In plaid pajama pants, hoodie, and a knee-high medical boot.
His hair was a chaotic storm, sticking out in directions that defied physics.
A five-o'clock shadow darkened his jaw.
He looked like he'd either just rolled out of bed or fought someone in the street.
Possibly both.
"Emma," Candace breathed when she saw me, relief softening the too-tight edges around her mouth.
Sebastian gave me a lazy little salute from the couch.
"Hey, Sinclair. You made it. I told Rosie you wouldn't bail."
Rosie's voice bellowed from the kitchen, "Sebastian! Stop lying to people!"
"See what I live with?" he groaned.
Candace looked at him, then at me, as if silently pleading:
How is this my life right now?
I sent her a tiny, reassuring smile and moved toward the couch.
"You two look… comfortable," I offered delicately.
Sebastian grinned. "Well, one of us does."
Candace muttered, "I should've brought a cardigan."
He elbowed her lightly. "Relax, Candy Cane. It's Rosie's house. She's legally required to love you."
Rosie appeared behind us, her wooden spoon in hand and a smile on her face.
Damien laughed beside me. "What did you just call her?"
Sebastian's face turned red. "Nothing!"
I sat beside Candace, letting my shoulder brush hers. "You okay?"
She nodded—too fast, too practiced.
"Much better."
