I hate how much I’m enjoying all the extra attention.
“Not a bad problem to have, Ivy.” Drew grins at me.
“True.” I grow serious. “How are you?”
“Great. The police assured me I’m in the clear. No charges are being filed.”
“Excellent. As it should be.” I pat his hand. “You saved us.”
“That’s what the police said too.”
Mr. Pickles rubs against my ankles, eyeing Drew. He doesn’t growl or attack him. Progress.
The smell of bacon and pancakes fills the air. I inhale deeply, a smile on my face.
The sight of Sebastian cooking hits me harder than it should. He’s focused, movements careful and deliberate. Pancakes on the griddle. Bacon in the pan. Coffeealready poured. He glances at me every few seconds like he’s checking that I haven’t vanished.
Mr. Pickles jumps on the back of my chair and surveys the room like a war general.
Drew turns around, watching Sebastian like he’s waiting for something to explode.
“You sure that’s safe?” he asks. “Because I feel like I should be emotionally prepared for food poisoning.”
Sebastian doesn’t look at him. “You can make your own breakfast if you don’t trust my cooking.”
“I would,” Drew says, “but I burn bacon and pancakes.”
I snort before I can stop myself. “And coffee,” I add.
Drew sticks his tongue out at me, and I laugh.
Sebastian turns, relief flickering across his face when he sees me smiling. He sets a plate in front of me like it’s sacred. “Eat.” The word is gentle. Protective.
I take a bite.
“Oh,” I say. “This is good.”
Drew straightens. “Excuse me?”
I nod. “Really good.”
Sebastian’s shoulders drop a fraction.
Drew grabs his fork and stabs a bite of pancake. He puts it in his mouth and chews. “Well, I’ll be damned.”
I grab the syrup and then go for?—
Shit.The butter is still in the fridge.
I shift in my chair, about to stand.
Immediately, Drew’s hand shoots out, stopping me.
“Nope,” Drew says. “You sit. What do you need?”
I blink. “Butter.”
“Got it.”
