Page 4 of Line Change

“Thanks.” I close the door and go about my business.

I peer at myself in the mirror while I’m washing my hands and really wish I hadn’t, because I look rough, my face splotchy red, mascara running. Why didn’t Sebastian say anything? That man is too nice for his own good.

I grab a washcloth out of the linen closet and clean up my smudged mascara as best as I can. Once I eat dinner and get the cats settled, I’ll find my makeup remover.

I stare at my reflection. I’m still not used to my brown hair. I was blonde for so long, but I was getting tired of the upkeep and the way the chemicals made my hair and scalp feel. Ironic, because to get back to my natural color, my hairstylist had to dye my hair. But at least this time when it starts to grow out, it should be close enough to my natural color that I won’t have to dye it again. One less thing to worry about when I’m taking care of a newborn, I guess.

I’m going to be a single mom at thirty-seven. That was one hundred percent not on my bingo card for this year. Or maybe ever.

“One foot in front of the other.”

I shake myself out of my thoughts and take my hair out of the bun I threw it up in this morning when I was too frazzled to do anything else to it, combing it out with my fingers.

Taking one final fortifying breath, I open the door and am shocked to not see Sebastian hovering in the hallway. Honestly, he was giving protective hovering vibes earlier, and I thought for sure he’d be waiting for me. I’m glad he’s not.

I make my way into the kitchen where I find him peering into the fridge. As if sensing my presence, he stands up to his full height and closes the door.

“What do you want to eat, love?”

“Breakfast food.” When I need a comfort meal, it’s always eggs, bacon, and toast or French toast. Pancakes or waffles are also good options. I’m not picky. Something about breakfast for dinner makes me feel better.

He walks over to the pantry and peers inside. “How do eggs and pancakes sound?”

My stomach growls, reminding me I haven’t eaten much today. “Perfect. What can I do to help?”

“I got it. Make yourself comfortable. I put your bags in the guest room, but I wasn’t sure what to do with your friends.” He tips his chin toward the cat carrier.

I peek inside it to find Bert and Ernie snuggled together asleep. Of course they’re asleep. It’s all they’ve done all day. They love the cat carrier and couldn’t have been happier to hang out in it for most of the day. I let them out a few times, and they explored my office for a few minutes until one of them wandered back into the carrier and the other followed.

“Tell me which room is mine, and I’ll let them out in there, or I can put them in the bathroom. They’re litter trained and always on their best behavior, so you don’t have to worry about your furniture.” I look around the room. “I can’t guarantee it won’t be covered in cat hair, but they won’t destroy it.”

“Sutton, love. It’s fine. Put them wherever you want. First door on the left down the hall is your room.”

A squeak escapes me when I walk into the room he deemed mine, because it really is empty aside from a floor lamp and a leather recliner in one corner. A tiny part of me wondered if maybe he was exaggerating. At least I have a place to sit? I close the door behind me and let the cats out.

Opening the closet, I find a bunch of hangers. The cats explore the empty room while I go about changing into something more comfortable and hanging up what I plan to wear tomorrow.

That taken care of, I open the door, and the cats dart past me.

“Bloody hell, mates,” Sebastian mutters from the kitchen. “Scared the living shit out of me.”

I can’t help but grin as I walk into the bathroom to set up their travel litter box and food and water bowls. Thankfully the bathroom is big enough I won’t be tripping over it, and it’s only for one night. It’ll be fine.

It’s just one night.

Once their stuff is set up, I head toward the kitchen, and my heart skips a beat at the sight in front of me—Sebastian with his back to me, cooking and humming while the cats sit dutifully at his feet. His bare feet. Why is that hot? He’s changed too, into a pair of black joggers and a green shirt. He’s also wearing an apron, at least if that’s what the strings across his back are. Hmph. Didn’t picture him as an apron-wearing guy. Not that I’ve spent time thinking about him and what he does or doesn’t wear. Nope. Not at all. As I watch, he peers down at the cats, a spatula in his hand.

“Tell me where she keeps the treats, and I’ll sneak you some.”

I chuckle, and he whirls around to face me. I laugh even harder when I read his apron—I’m not old, I’m well seasoned.

It feels good to laugh.

The thought hits me like a bullet train, and I blink a few times. We’re not going to think about that right now.

He arches an eyebrow, his blue eyes sparkling, but doesn’t say anything, simply goes back to cooking. I take a few steps into the kitchen and halt, glancing between him, the fridge, and the counter where he’s set out plates, glasses, and silverware.

“You sure there’s nothing I can do to help?”