He turns—and I hold my breath, praying he doesn’t see me.
“—Yes, I know he’s difficult. He’s always been difficult. That’s not new?—”
His footsteps shift back toward the kitchen.
I exhale and wait three seconds before slowly peeking over the couch.
He’s gone.
I move.
Quiet. Controlled. Light on my feet.
I slip down the hallway, heart pounding—not from fear, but from anticipation.
Until his footsteps start again, heading in my direction.
I panic and dive into the bathroom.
I press myself against the door as Drew’s voice filters into my ears, the sound coming from the edge of the living room.
“No, Mom, I don’t think he’s dating her?—”
A pause.
“No. I don’t think she’s a stalker.”
I grin.
Good boy.
The footsteps fade.
I exhale, then move again, sneaking up the stairs, quiet as a mouse. I make it down the hallway before I hear Drew’s voice.
I practically bolt into Sebastian’s room, closing the door behind me with a soft click.
The scent hits me immediately. Warm. Clean. Masculine.
My shoulders drop. Relief floods my system so fast it makes me dizzy.
“This,” I whisper, “is where I belong.”
I step farther inside, fingers brushing his comforter like I’m greeting an old friend. I smooth the fabric once. Twice.
Then I sit on the bed and look around his room.
His clothes are on the floor again.
Tsk. Tsk.
I nudge his discarded shirt with my foot, then stop myself.
No. He’ll notice if I fix it.
Instead, I turn the sleeve just slightly—so it lies flat instead of twisted. A correction that only someone who belongs here would make.
He won’t see it right away. But later, when he picks it up, he will.
