By the time everything’s in the oven, I’m humming softly and wiping down the counters when I hear the back door open.
Sebastian freezes in the doorway, eyes wide like he’s walked into the wrong house.
“Jesus, Ivy,” he says. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Making dinner,” I reply easily, glancing at the timer. “It’ll be ready in ten minutes. Enough time for you to shower and change.”
His mouth opens. Closes. He rubs the back of his neck. Then sighs.
“Ivy, we really need to talk about boundaries.”
I tilt my head. “Oh, I don’t like that word.” I shudder. “It sounds…” I tap my foot, searching for the right word.
“True.”
“No,” I say, patting his shoulder as I pass him, grabbing the table runner I brought over. “Formal.”
When I’m finished, I smile up at him. “Go shower. We’ll talk about what’s bothering youlater.”
He stares at me like I’ve just rewritten the laws of physics.
Then—still baffled—he turns and heads upstairs.
I almost giggle. Poor man has no idea what hit him.
I hum as I check the food, then set two plates on the table, silverware neatly aligned. I’m finishing up when I hear footsteps again.
Sebastian reappears, hair damp from the shower, a shirt slung over his shoulder like he was in too much of a hurry to put it on.
I forget how to breathe as I stare at his bare chest. And the way water droplets still cling to his skin.
The oven timer beeps, saving me from myself.
“You’re just in time,” I say brightly, pulling the chicken out.
“Ivy,” he starts, rubbing the back of his neck. “Really. You don’t need to do this.”
I glance at him as I scoop food onto his plate. “I don’t mind.”
“No,” he says carefully. “That’s not what I mean.”
I carry the dish to the table, then grab two glasses. “Sit. I’ll get you an iced tea.”
He sits, but I can feel his eyes on me like he’s trying to solve a puzzle with too many pieces.
“Ivy,” he says again, slower now. “I really appreciate this. But I don’t think you should be doing this.”
I set his glass down and take my seat. “We’re friends, right?”
He blinks.
“Acquaintances,” he corrects stiffly.
“Sure,” I say lightly. “I guess we’re not friends until we’ve shared our darkest secrets.”
He rubs his forehead. “That’s not?—”
“I like doing this,” I admit, my voice wobbling just a little. I steady it. “It gets me out of the house. Gives me something to do.”
