AllFreeNovel
Share Us
It’s ridiculous to even fantasize about that, especially because Sebastian seems like someone I could fall for, and he’s come into my life exactly when I’ve sworn off anything deeper than “you smell nice, let’s do this.”
He doesn’t speak again, just exhales softly in the dark, and it sounds so sad that even though I don’t want to risk uncovering more things about him to like, I ask, “How was today supposed to go for you?” This topic is safer than the what-ifs that hang between us.
There’s a soft chuckle in the dark. “Not at all like this.” The blankets slide across my skin as he shifts positions on the mattress. “My dad was going to pick me up from the airport even though we all know I could just grab a Lyft. My mom would’ve been baking all day, so the whole house will smell like butter and chocolate and cinnamon.”
“Your folks live in Chicago?” I try to keep my voice casual, but I wouldn’t be asking if I wasn’t interested.
“Oak Brook,” he says. “They still live in the house where my sisters and I grew up.”
“That’s sweet.” I sound almost wistful, which is ridiculous; the big-family thing has never been my style. Then again, family dynamics are what I’m studying, so I might as well use Sebastian as a convenient case study. God knows he’s talkative enough to be a whole chapter of my dissertation.
Yep. It’s academic curiosity and nothing more that has me asking, “So do you live nearby?”
“Nah, Detroit,” he says. “But I always come home for Christmas. It’s a huge deal for my parents. They both love it. They singlehandedly keep the garland-and-twinkle-light industry alive.” We breathe together in the dark for a bit before he says, “It’s almost embarrassing how magical it all was when I was a kid. We all went to pick out a tree together. Every room got decorated. Mom has a whole book of recipes that she only makes at Christmas, and we’d look forward to it all year.”
“Like what?” What Sebastian’s describing is so foreign to me. Our holiday spirit was extended as far as the bar, and that’s where it stayed. But Sebastian’s family had rooms full of decorations and December-only recipes? It’s hard to imagine.
“God, so many things. Homemade salami. Oatmeal fudge bars. Roll-out cookies that took a full day to decorate. Two types of punch.” He laughs softly. “Green for kids, and red for adults because it’s got vodka. Let me tell ya, the year I turned 21 and got to try red punch for the first time? That was a big year.”
“Awww, my big boy with his red punch,” I joke, then immediately want to strike the words from the record. Sebastian St. Claire cannot bemyanything.
He doesn’t acknowledge my weirdness, although he shifts closer. “We do a huge Christmas Eve dinner that everybody pitches in to help cook. And then it’s just a free-for-all after that. The kids stay up late and try to guess what’s in each present and the adults drink spiked hot chocolate, and there’s music and some kind of holiday movie in the background. Then on Christmas, it’s pajamas all day and tearing through presents and eating all the sugar-based foods.”
“That all sounds…” I don’t know how to answer.Differentfeels like an insult, but it is. I grew up with zero traditions. Actually, that’s not true; Lizzie’s Tap stayed open over Christmas, so my holidays were mostly spent wiping tables and running dirty glasses to the dishwasher. So yeah, the childhood he’s describing couldn’t be more different than mine, and although I’ve never spent much time wanting what other people have, the reverence in his voice as he talks about it fills me with a restless longing. I am who I am because of my childhood, so there’s no point wondering who I’d be if I’d spent my Christmas mornings surrounded by wrapping paper shreds and cookie crumbs.
These thoughts have me so unmoored that I blurt out the other thing that’s been buzzing around my brain all day.
“Do you know what’s crazy?”
His quiet laugh tickles my ears. “Is it driving halfway across the country in a blizzard with a stranger?”
“Nah, that’s just a Tuesday for me.” I’m aiming for breezy when in truth I’m still bothered by what went down in Stilton Grove. The way I almost stayed even though every part of me was screaming to get the hell out. “What’s crazy is ol’ pervy Pete back at the rental place. I didn’t even look that cute!”
“What do you mean?” I can practically hear the frown in his voice.
“I mean,” I say, starting to wish we were still talking about Sebastian’s perfect childhood and not my own neuroses, “that I wasn’t exactly at peak hotness today. I don’t know why that guy would work so hard to get me on his office couch.”
An almost-growl rumbles through his chest. “You and I both know that guys like that don’t really care about looks.” I can’t see his expression, but his tone is dark, and the back of my neck prickles at the thought of it. God, what did that man say while I was at the car that has Sebastian sounding so primal and protective?
The anxious buzz I’ve been dealing with since Lizzie’s death bursts to life in my brain, reminding me that nobody’s around to care what happens to me anymore. But before I can spin out, Sebastian says, “Anyway, I disagree. You looked hot as fuck today.” There’s a beat, and then he says gruffly, “Good night, Birdy.”
With that, he falls silent, and I listen for a long time as his breathing evens out.
He may be able to fall right to sleep, but his words set my nerves on fire, and now I’m aware of every place where the sheets brush against my overheated skin.
You looked hot as fuck today.
Who drops something like that and just rolls over and conks out?
My road trip partner, that’s who. And I need to do the same because tomorrow’s going to be another long travel day. I don’t know if this conversation just made it harder or easier to sit inches away from him for hours and hours.
It’s my last thought before exhaustion from the day claims me.
EIGHT
Sebastian
“I’m changing it,” Birdy announces as I howl in disapproval.
