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.”