“Pays to have a high-priced Philadelphia attorney.” I’m smiling big and staring at him.
It’s awkward—him in the alley and me standing inside. I’m not sure what the protocol is for something like this.
“Thank you for coming all this way.” I grin and shrug my shoulders.
“Not a problem.” He nods. It’s seems he, too, doesn’t know what else to say.
My oven timer goes off, and I remember my peanuts are inside it.
“Smells good in there. What are you making?” he asks, checking out what’s in front of us.
“Sea-salted chocolate peanut brittle.”
He tilts his head in question. “I don’t recall seeing that on your website.”
I’m flattered he paid enough attention to my website to know what is on it. “I’m pleasure-baking tonight. Had a craving.”
“I love peanut brittle. I haven’t had it since I was a kid. My grandmother used to make it.”
“Mine too,” I answer quickly and way too enthusiastically. “I’m using her recipe.”
“I never had the chance to make it with her. I wish I had, but she passed when I was just a kid.” His eyes crinkle with his words as he looks down.
It’s sweet, the way he thinks of his grandmother. If his was like mine, she must have left a grand impression on his heart.
I’m not sure entirely what convinces me that this is a good idea, but I find myself asking, “Do you want to come in? I can show you how to make it.”
“I’d like that.” He walks inside, past me, before I have a chance to process the fact that he agreed.
I close and lock the door and turn to see him in my space.
The kitchen is large, having originally been used to serve enough people for an eighty-seat restaurant. With its all-white walls and stainless steel tables, it looks almost like a sterile environment—until you look down and see the dark red tile squares with grout so old that it’s black instead of the tan that you can see in the corners and under the tables. There’s a large island in the center with massive appliances around the U-shape setting, making it possible to cook multiple items at once without having to move much.
It’s a clean workspace, esthetically speaking. I added mahogany shelves to a blank wall to bring in a homier feel, and the stools where Charity likes to sit are matching dark wood. Adding my Loui Jover painting, which Hardin left sitting outside too, on the other blank wall really brings life and color to the space.
Just when I thought my room was complete, I realize no amount of wood could provide the amount of warmth to this space as one Sebastian Blake in his dark jeans, cashmere sweater, and leather loafers. His presence alone is warm and inviting and everything this cold room needs.
“This is where the magic happens,” he muses, taking in the counter space where I have three apothecary vases filled with herbs, growing near the window.
“Where dreams come true.” I walk over to the oven, take out the peanuts, and set them on the counter to cool.
That’s when I hear Lady Featherington whimpering on the other side of my office door with her tiny nails clawing on the hollow wood. I would let her out, but with Sebastian here, I don’t know if that’s a good idea.
“Is that your dog?” he asks, pointing to my office.
“Yes. I know I’m not supposed to have an animal in a commercial kitchen, but since Hardin gave her back, I haven’t found a place to keep her. Charity is allergic, and Shawn refuses to walk a dog. I’d ask my siblings who live outside the city, and I know one would say yes, but to be honest, I just got her back, and I don’t want her to go far. Plus, she’s been shuffled from my custody, to Hardin and Mindy’s, and back to me, and I’m afraid she’ll get custodial whiplash.”
Sebastian grins that gorgeous half-smile that rises on one side as he walks over to my office door, opening it and then picking up Lady Featherington from behind the gate.
“Aren’t you a precious little thing?” he says, kneeling to the ground and allowing her to jump on his knee, sniff his shirt, and lick his face.
Her hair is a big poof with the little bow at the top of her head falling slightly to the side.
“I can see why you named her what you did. This dog is dainty. She can definitely rock the bling though.” He points to her collar as she laps up his neck.
I’ve never been so jealous of a dog before.
“Lady Featherington, no,” I command, and she follows my order.
“Nice. Glad to see she’s well trained.”
“The only perk to my ex’s new girlfriend being a dog walker was, she kept up the good habits.”
He scratches her head and then rises. “You know, when we were compiling those letters from the people in the building, I was surprised how many saw you out and about with the dog, given you had a dog walker.”
“Mindy was only around to take her out while we worked. The shitty part of this whole thing is, she was a really good dog walker. Reliable, helped train her, and I never worried about her stealing anything from the apartment while we were gone.”
“What will you do now that you have her back?”
“I’ve taken her for seven walks today because I feel horrible that she can only stay behind closed doors, for fear she’ll contaminate my kitchen. My loan from the bank should come through in the next week or two. I’ll look for something small around here, so I can run home on my break and walk her.”
I take Lady Featherington and head back to my office, putting her in her bed. When I turn, Sebastian is in the doorway behind me, his broad shoulders taking up the entire space and making him seem almost larger than life.
“You sleep in here?” His brow furrows.
“Yep. The futon is surprisingly comfortable, and all my clothes fit in that suitcase. I have a closet in the front, and the bathroom is a decent size. The windows are all fogged glass, so I can dance in my underwear without anyone watching.”
“Habit of yours?” he asks with a crooked grin.
“It’s a mood booster,” I state easily. “The gym next door opens at five, so I shower there in exchange for chocolate. Don’t worry; there’s a secret door, so it’s not like I’m walking outside in a towel. I bring my clothes with me and get fully ready there.”
His mouth twists. “Seems dangerous. How many men see you walk through that door?”
“Are you getting all protective of me, Mr. Blake?”
“Fiercely.” He steps back and walks over to the other side of the room. “Through here?” He points before heading down the hallway that leads to the gym. After inspecting the locks and then unlatching them, he opens the door and looks into the weight area.
I stand and watch him close the door and then relock it.
“Does it meet your approval?” I tilt my head to the side.
“No.” He clenches his jaw as he searches around my space again.
“You know, my dad didn’t even give me this hard of a time about it.” I place my hands on my hips.
He raises a brow. “Does he know you shower in there while juiced-up guys are working out?”
A laugh escapes my lips. “Do you think I shower in the middle of the room for all men to see? It’s called a women’s locker room. Every gym has one.”