by Emma Hart
“I’m not sure stripping in your kitchen is a good idea.”
“Really? I can’t think of a better one.”
I snorted, and the jerk my body made meant I hit my head on the cabinet frame. “Ouch!”
“Oh, for God’s sake. The mixing bowls are in the cabinet next to the sink.”
I got up. “That’s the other side of the kitchen!”
“And? That’s where the pans are.”
“Your stove is over there!” I pointed to the glass-topped stove. “Why is your kitchen such a mess? Nothing is where it should be. Next you’ll be telling me your plates are in your laundry room.”
“I don’t mean to be a jerk,” Seb said, lips twitching. “But this neurotic organization thing you have going on is going me so much material to work with.”
“I’m not neurotic,” I replied. “And if being organized is a crime, then you can shoot me.”
“You are neurotic. Just a little bit. It’s quite endearing, actually.” He tipped a jar of sauce into the pan.
“Neurotic is not endearing.”
“Well, you make it look cute.”
“I’m not a bunny rabbit.”
“I don’t like rabbits. Their ears are weird.”
“Yeah, and I’m the strange one,” I muttered. “What material are you getting to work with?”
“I wondered when you’d give up arguing and finally ask that.” He stirred the meat mixture and used a small spoon to taste the sauce. “I’m having the time of my life. I mean, you’re dying to get your hands on those boxes in my garage—”
Just a little bit.
“—And my kitchen is driving you absolutely insane.”
More than a little bit.
“I just can’t wait until you see my closet.”
I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Are you trying to kill me?”
“No, but I do think I can use all this to my advantage.”
“How can you use this to your advantage?”
“I’ll let you reorganize my kitchen if we can talk about what’s going on here.”
“Ooh, that’s mean.” I folded my arms across my chest. “I don’t think I want to see your closet. Or your bathroom. Or anything else. I can only imagine how else you’ll blackmail me into doing what you want.”
He looked up from the pan and met my eyes. A knowing, almost dirty smirk had his lips curved in a sexy way. “Oh, trust me. It’ll be good for you, too.”
“I don’t agree to any of this. It’s fine. I don’t have to live here. I don’t even have to come back here ever again. Ever,” I added one more time for emphasis. “You have your pans by your sink on the opposite side to your stove. You keep your mixing bowls and your scales in totally different places, and—why on Earth are you getting black pepper from the fridge?”
Seb looked at the pepper mill. “I think that’s actually a mistake.”
“Thank God for that.”
“It’s supposed to be with the sauces.”
“Wait, what? No. It’s not a sauce. It’s a spice. Where are your spices?”
“Probably with the snacks.”
“What is happening in your kitchen? Who thought this was a good idea? A two-year-old? I can’t cope with this.”
His whole body shook when he laughed at me. “Are you okay? Do you need a minute?”
“I think I might. Your kitchen is stressing me out.”
He couldn’t stop laughing.
I was going to kill him.
Seriously. How hard was it to organize something so it made sense? Spices with snacks?
God, I knew he was behind this.
“You really need a girlfriend to sort your life out,” I said without thinking.
“I know, but she’s being a pain in the ass and is yelling about my kitchen instead of, you know, having that talk that could sort my life out.”
“I am not your girlfriend.”
“You could be.”
“I’m already a fake one. I don’t feel the need to be a real one.” I followed him with my gaze as he turned off the stove and came in my direction.
“You’re in front of the pasta,” he said without batting an eyelid.
I sidestepped. “Not with this kitchen. Only a madwoman would date a man with a kitchen this insane. Who knew such pretty cabinets held such insanity?”
He pulled the lasagna sheets out, not even bothering to hide his amusement again.
“This is a whole other level. Completely crazy. I don’t know how you fi—” I was cut off when he slammed the cabinet door shut.
He shoved the pasta box on the counter so hard I thought I heard a few of the sheets break, but that was nothing more than a fleeting thought as he yanked me against him, cupped the back of my neck, and kissed me.
Every single nerve ending in my body felt like it was on fire.
I squeaked under his touch, but he didn’t relent. His other hand slid up my arm and over my shoulder to cup my face, keeping me in place. Any resistance I had deflated out of me like a balloon, and I rested my hands on his forearms.
It…
It was the best kiss I’d ever had.
The kind of kiss I’d read about a thousand times. The one designed to shut you up. The one designed to put an end to any and all doubt about feelings.
The one that kicked you in the soul and imprinted itself there.
I leaned into it, unable to ignore the way my heart was pounding in my chest.
This had been building all day. I’d known it was coming, and I was both happy and wary that it had.
Because I knew.
There was nothing residual about my feelings for Sebastian Stone. Nothing left over from our high school days, from the lack of closure I’d had.
What I felt for him was very, very real, and I could no longer hide behind a curtain of denial and snarky comments to keep him at arm’s length.
“Thank God for that,” he murmured, pulling away. “I had to shut you up somehow.”
Opening my eyes, I looked up at him through my lashes. There was a light in his eyes, one that hadn’t been there five minutes ago. One that warmed me all through my body and sent a spark of surrender through me.
And fear.
So much fear.
Beyond everything, I was deathly afraid of being hurt. Sebastian was the only person who could hurt me in the way I feared so badly, and I knew that because it’d happened once before. While I knew that hadn’t been intentional and my own stubborn ass had been to blame, that didn’t change the fact I was terrified.
I’d always been afraid of falling.
Out of bed.
From a tree.
In love.
“Is it just old feelings?” I asked softly, inhaling slowly. “Because we never sorted it back then? Is this all nostalgia?”
Slowly, his smile fell, and his lips turned downward, but that light in his blue eyes never left. “No,” he replied after a moment of searching my face. “Not for me. It never has been. I was in love with you, Holley, and I’m not sure I ever got over you.”
I swallowed, sliding my hands down his arms.
“Is it for you? Just something that could have been?”
“No. But I don’t know what to say. I don’t have the words.”
“Ironic, considering how many you read each day.”
I fought a smile. “I don’t want to fight with you anymore.”
He drew me closer to him and dipped his head, brushing his nose over mine. “Then let me in, Hol. Just stop fighting and see what happens.”
“But what about when you leave again? To play again?”
He sighed. “It was a bad tear,” he said in a low voice. “Everyone is happy with my progress, but they told me this week there’s a seventy-five-percent chance I’ll never play professionally again.”
My stomach dropped. “What?”
“Yeah. It’s not uncommon for a torn rotator cuff to end a career, but I’d hoped I’d be a few years older before
I had that particular conversation with my doctor. It’s why Dylan is really moving nearby. His job is to try and change those odds up.” His eyes never left mine. “But I’m not going to pin my entire life on a twenty-five-percent chance when I know I’ll never be the same player I was before. It’s not like it’s a pulled muscle where you’re fine after a couple of weeks.”
“Are you giving up?”
“No.” He laughed quietly. “I did not work this hard to give up, but I’m also being realistic. If I can’t play again, that’s fine. It’s nobody’s fault. I’ll just teach it instead.”
I smiled.
“I’m going to plan ahead for a life without being on the road, and that’s okay. But either way, no matter what happens, I just know I want you to be a part of it. However it works out.” He tilted his head to the side. “So what do you say? Will you give it—us—a chance?”
“Can I organize your kitchen? And the boxes in the garage?”
“Is that really your criteria for this?”
“Perspective: you’re rich and famous and all I want from you is to organize your kitchen.”
“When you put it like that…” A grin slowly broke out over his face. “Fine, you can organize my kitchen. The garage I’ll hold for later.”
“Oh, so mean.” I pouted.
He took that as a cue and kissed me again. He slid his hands down my body and pulled me against him, wrapping his arms around my body. My hands were flat against his firm chest, and as his lips moved against mine, I was completely lost to this moment.
And to him.
And I had no idea what to do about it except roll with it.
CHAPTER TWENTY – HOLLEY
rule twenty: really, as a bookworm, you should know how this story goes.
“Well, thank God for that,” Saylor said, swinging her legs from the table. “It’s about time. I was getting really fed up of all your lollygagging.”
“Lollygagging?” Kinsley raised her eyebrows.
Say picked up her book. “Grandma wanted me to read this.”
At. That explained it. It was a historical romance.
I squinted at the cover. “That’s book… four? Right?”
Kinsley took it from her. “Yeah. It’s book four of the Potters. Why are you reading book four?”
“Because I read book one, then two, then three, and now I’m on four. Any other stupid questions?” Saylor grumbled. “It’s pretty good.”
“Do you want me to add book five to the order?” I asked.
“No!” She looked at the book. “Yeah. Damn it.”
I laughed and opened the order software. A quick search brought up the whole series. It was nine books in, so I took the liberty of adding the others, too.
“Hey, do we have the first book in stock?” Kinsley asked. “Remember when we had Abigail here for her signing?”
We both nodded.
“We read the book early, right? People loved it that we recommended it. Why don’t we do that with the Potters? I think the next book is coming out just after Christmas. We could try and drive sales.”
I met Saylor’s eyes for a second.
“Like a ‘we recommend’ kinda thing?” she asked.
Kinsley bounced. “Yes! We could put it by the register on a little table—”
“Or move the magnets since it’s not tourist season,” I interjected. “We aren’t really selling them in store.”
“That,” Saylor said. “I hate those magnets.”
I was with her on that.
“Okay, that works. We could order, like, five copies, and if they sell well, do a rush order for more.” She looked to me. “Can we do that? Is it possible?”
I typed it into the website where we ordered books and checked the book price. “Rush pricing isn’t worth it—we won’t make more than a dollar a book after the rush shipping markup… Hold on.” I did another quick search. “They have an offer on where if you buy the first three books in the series you get a five percent discount.”
“Oh, no, not five percent,” Saylor droned.
“That’s a considerable saving if you buy a few sets.” Kinsley peered over my shoulder. “If we used the same pricing tactic by giving a discount for buying the first few books…” She grabbed the calculator we kept at the register and hit the buttons, then turned it to me.
I looked at the number there and then on the screen. “It’s basically the holiday season. We do really well from now since everyone always buys books for people for Christmas, so if we were to do this, I’d say now is when we pull the trigger.”
“It’s a good marketing tactic,” Saylor said, scrolling on her phone. “I’m looking online, and I can’t find any bundles of this series. Unless one of the major stores does a huge discount for those lunatics who wake up at four a.m. to go shopping on Black Friday, I think we should do it. If it goes well, it’s something we can do for future series. We sell enough of them.”
“You handle the accounting. Worth it?” Kinsley asked me.
“Our merchandise has rocketed our bottom line. Our website store is doing really well, so I think we can afford to take some risks with some bundles.”
“Ooh, we should bundle the merch!” Saylor clapped her hands. “Or do a sale. Like spend fifty bucks and get a tote or a shirt half price, stuff like that.”
“I love that!” Kinsley bounced again. “Can we do that?”
“Why is everyone asking me?” I blinked.
“Because you’re a raging control freak who needs to know everything,” Say answered without batting an eyelid. “That’s why we’re asking you.”
“Hey, this is our business, we can decide it together.” I added the book bundles to our order. “I think it’s a good idea. Can someone ask Tori to do some graphics for our social media?”
“On it,” Saylor said, already tapping the screen. “I’ll tell her I’ll send her a list later.”
“Perfect.” I smiled. “Okay, well, that was an interesting impromptu meeting.”
Kinsley leaned on the register. “It was. Now we can talk about Seb.”
I groaned. I really thought telling them that we’d kissed would get them off my back about it, but that was probably my first mistake.
“I already told you what happened. We went to his place after he messed up my stock take,” I said, saving the order. “One thing led to another and he kissed me. We talked some after that and decided to just…see what happens.”
“Did you just kiss him?” Saylor asked, raising her eyebrows. “Nothing else?”
“Nothing else,” I confirmed.
“How do you feel?” Kinsley pulled out the spare stool and sat on it. “Like, after everything.”
“Weird,” I said slowly. “It is a bit strange because it’s Sebastian, but then at the same time, it’s been so long it almost doesn’t feel like the same person. Does that make sense?”
Kinsley said, “Yes,” right as Saylor said, “No.”
“That’s helpful, thanks.” I got up and grabbed the empty coffee mugs.
“It makes sense,” Kinsley confirmed. “Eight years is a long time. You almost need to get to know each other again.”
I dropped the empty mugs in the sink in the back room.
“Ugh. This is why relationships suck.” Saylor reached up and pulled her pink hair into a knot on top of her head. “Get to know someone you’ve known your entire life? No, thank you. You two can do that.”
“Didn’t you just dye your hair in anticipation of meeting Dylan?” I questioned. “Who, by the way, is super hot.”
She glared at me. “Stop it. Why won’t you show me a picture of him?”
“Because I’m a jerk,” I replied happily.
Kinsley grinned. “You’re so flustered. I hope he moves in. I can’t wait to see you unravel.”
“I am not a ball of yarn.” Saylor’s voice was tight. “I do not unravel.”
“Whatever you say.” Kinsley slid off the stool. “Hey, do we have a lot of cookbooks
here? My parents are coming to town for Thanksgiving and staying at my brother’s. Mom wants me to cook a side dish, but it has to be something new.”
“I just restocked them yesterday. There’s a ton back there.”
“Thanks.” She slid off into the depths of the store.
Saylor finally jumped off the table and came up to the register. “Holley, please.”
“Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t. I don’t know his last name.” I shrugged and set about tidying the register. “You’re just going to have to wait until tomorrow.”
She groaned and stalked off down the store to the front windows where she fiddled with the pom-pom turkey in the display. “This is so unfair. He’s hot, he’s British, he’s—”
The door over the bell rang.
“Here,” I finished for her, my lips pulling up at the sight of Sebastian and someone I recognized as Dylan from the pictures.
Dylan was tall—the same height as Seb—and had dark brown hair that matched his eyes. There was the hint of a five o’clock shadow on his jaw, one that was more unruly than deliberate, and his eyes lit up when he saw us.
“Hey. What are you doing here?” I asked, tilting my head up.
Seb leaned over the counter and kissed the corner of my mouth, sending a little shiver down my spine. “Dylan got into town early so I thought I’d show him around. Holley, this is Dylan. Dylan, this is…” He paused. “Holley.”
“That wasn’t awkward at all.” I held a hand up to Dylan. “Hi. It’s nice to meet you.”
“I’ve heard a lot about you.” Dylan’s smile was infectious, and I think his accent short circuited the lights… “It’s great to meet you, too.”
“Oh. My. God.” Saylor mouthed from behind both of them.
“Is it just you here?” Seb asked, peering behind me.
“Nope. Kinsley is somewhere back there hunting down a recipe book, and Saylor’s right behind you.”
She quickly pulled her hair out of its knot and fluffed it out before they turned. “Hi! Dylan, right?” She stalked forward and held out a hand. “It’s great to meet you. I’m Saylor. I think you’re coming to see my place this weekend?”
Seriously.
I envied her ability to just talk to anyone like she’d known them her whole life.
Dylan shook her head with a wide smile. “Yeah, I think that’s right. You’ve got a spare room? Did your roommate just move out?”