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Right on cue, my heart sighs in my chest like a sentimental fool.
“I like how you say my name.”
14
BEE
It’s beena point of pride that I have never met a flat-pack I couldn’t put together myself, but one look at Sebastian holding a hammer, and all I want is for him to build a bookshelf for me. Preferably without a shirt on.
Maybe I need to stop watching all those hottest kiss compilations. I’m starting to find myself preoccupied with the shape of Sebastian’s fingers and the prominent vein that runs along his wrist. Come to think of it, why do so many of those videos feature guys tilting a woman’s chin with their fingers, and what would happen if I accidentally sent one to Sebastian?
Wait. Scratch that. I can barely handle it when he lifts me onto a counter. If he even came close to—Christ—stroking my lip with his thumb, I might have a coronary.
Although… it would be a hell of a way to go out.
“Something must be hard,” he says, and I find him watching me with amusement.
It could be, I want to say. “Hmm?” Is the intelligent response that comes out instead.
Today’s touch-me moment is sponsored by a tan corduroy shirt that resulted in an extended Pinterest dive and the ruination of my Instagram algorithm. Although is it really ruined if it means seeing more images of tattooed lumberjacks? I wonder if Sebastian would consider a fire pit for the front yard. Is it so wrong to want to see him handle an axe?
His chuckle is downright seductive. “You’ve been staring into space for the last few minutes. I assume it’s another plot problem?”
I blink down at my full cup of now cold coffee. Oops. This is why corduroy should be banned. It’s impeding my brain function.
“It’s a problem all right,” I mumble on my way out of the room, draining my lukewarm coffee in defiance. I will not be derailed by polyester.
Two chapters and an hour later, I leave the safety of my room to find that Sebastian has put his tools away (back away from the gutter, brain) and there’s a newly finished shelving unit wedged between the TV and the window.
“It looks good.” The light should hit it in the morning, and I wonder if Sebastian has already planned for what will live there.
“It probably won’t be enough, but that should take care of at least one box, I’d say.”
He’s waiting for a response, but I’m confused. One box of what? Unless I missed it, the only one of us with anything left to unpack is me, and it’s only the stacks of…
Oh.
My heart flips in my chest as I take in the unit again.
He built a bookcase. For me.
Holy crap.
“It’s…” In one syllable, I’ve already failed to keep the emotion from my voice. “The nicest thing anyone’s done for me.”
“For someone who’s so hard on herself, you’re remarkably easy to please.”
“You only think that because everything you do pleases me.”
It slips out without permission, a streaker breaking free from security. I’m so busy trying not to cry over a few panels of plywood that I didn’t even attempt to censor myself.
But when I open my mouth to take it back, I finally clock Sebastian’s expression. If I’ve thought him intense before, the look he’s giving me now has them all beat.
It’s a lot. Hot and hungry and maybe tender. All the ways I’ve wanted him to look at me. But I don’t know what to do with it.
So I do what I always do. I duck and hide.
Sinking onto a beanbag might not be the coolest way to avoid an awkward conversation, but it’s definitely effective. Now I have two things to be embarrassed about.
