We watch him expectantly.
B’s eyes widen. “Holy shit, this is really good.”
Seb blushes. “Oh, yeah?”
B nods. “Yes, this is amazing. Those spices I added made it taste like this?”
Seb looks amused. “That is generally how cooking works. It’s a salmon rub from a little town north of Seattle. I always get some when I drive through.”
“I’ve never eaten anything like this,” B says, taking another large bite.
“Did your dad not cook for you, B?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “We had a personal chef after my mom died.” His voice takes on a bitter tone. “My dad always had her make plaingrilled chicken and steamed vegetables because he wanted me in peak shape.”
“Salmon’s pretty healthy,” Seb says.
B shrugs. “My dad always had to be in control. He always thought he knew what was best for me.”
Seb and I exchange looks, and he scoots closer to B until their knees press together. “Thanks for helping me these last couple days. You might make a good sous-chef one day.”
B’s eyes light up. “Really?”
“With a little more practice, I don’t see why not.”
“Well, as a future sous-chef at Brothers’ Beer and Bourbon, I think the teriyaki and the salmon should definitely be on the menu.”
“I agree, Seb,” I say with a smile. “Everything has been so good.”
Seb’s lip twitches with a hint of a smile. “I’ll take it under advisement.”
I’mglad that Seb and B seem to have found something they can bond over besides me.
I’ve tried to keep flirting with the guys to a minimum, but it’s not always easy.
As much as B and I try to maintain a platonic rhythm, the undertone of attraction between us is like a fire raging beneath my skin.
And Sebastian has me swooning left and right. He has an intrinsic need to be a caretaker—the role he took on with Marcus and Charlie, I’m sure. He makes tea in the evenings and serves it to me in my dad’s cup, a chipped blue and gray mug that I found on our first day. He brings in my and B’s boots every night and places them by the fire. And yesterday he baked two sets of cookies because I like double chocolate and B likes sugar cookies.
I’ve taken to organizing the cabin as a distraction, but I’mstill scared. Detective Lin and her team haven’t found Dennis, and something in my gut tells me that he’s going to find me first. As it is, he’s always lurking in the shadows of my mind waiting for an emotional trigger. I hate that I can still feel his presence when I close my eyes, like the ghost of rough fingers on my skin. I don’t want to think about him, but compartmentalizing trauma is exhausting, and I’m so tired that sometimes the memories leak out like toxic waste and pollute my mind.
My eyes move to the list on the coffee table, and I pick up the pencil and add a note about organizing the bookshelf.
The door opens and the guys walk in, stomping the snow from their boots.
“I told you not to carry him all the way over here. You made him mad,” Seb says grumpily while taking off his coat and hanging it up.
B stands in the doorway looking pitifully at his glove, which is missing the tip on his pointer finger.
“What’s going on? I ask, my eyes bouncing between them. “Who’s mad?”
“Captain Jack,” Brantley says matter-of-factly, pulling off the glove and studying his finger.
“The pirate?”
“The rooster,” Seb corrects me with an eye roll.
“You named him Captain Jack?”
