Page 63 of After Midnight

My lips pull into a small smile. “I’ll show you when we get back to my place. But first, groceries.”

I lean away and grip the steering wheel, ready to back out of my parking spot. Before I do, though, I see that Sebastian’s smile has returned, even if it is a little dimmer than before. And I decide that my goal of the day will be to keep that smile on his face—because I really don’t like to see him frown.

chapter 27

Sebastian

REMI IS A WOMAN POSSESSED while she meal preps. I help out where I can, chopping the things she tells me to chop and grabbing ingredients when she needs them. But mostly, I think she wants me to stay out of the way. So I take a seat on one of the tall barstools and sit at the counter, sipping one of the Coronas from last night, watching as she starts to portion her meals out into gleaming glass containers with pink lids.

Her hair is pulled up into a messy bun, and she’s wearing a tank top and jean shorts, with her cute bare coral toes padding across the wood floor—which means it’s killing me watching her. Like, it’s almost physically painful at times to hold myself back from touching her.

But watching her move through her normal routine is beautiful in its own way as well. I feel fortunate just getting to sit here in her space, just getting to exist with her.

When I realized I missed my flight this morning, there was something relieving in it, like I’d subconsciously accidentally given myself a reason to stay.

And Remi was okay with it.

Sitting here now, snagging slices of red bell pepper from the bowl Remi had me chop up, I could grab my phone and schedule my return flight to Cali. But every time I think of doing that, a knot forms in my stomach.

Because I really don’t want to go.

But I know I have to; Ashton was texting me earlier today about everything we’re doing these next four weeks: more studio time, promo shoots, a podcast interview, and a bunch of other random stuff that I’ve already forgotten about. Usually, I’m chill about all of that; I don’t enjoy all of it, necessarily, but if it means I get to keep playing music for a living, I’ll do it with a smile on my face.

Things feel different now though. Because all of those responsibilities directly impact my ability to be here, with her. They’ll take me away from where I really want to be.

So, I take another sip of my beer and intentionally don’t reach for my phone. Maybe tomorrow I’ll schedule the flight. Remi goes back to work tomorrow, so she might want me out of her hair anyway.

The lids click closed on her glass containers, and then she puts them into the freezer, except for one, which she slides into the refrigerator. When she turns, she plants her hands on her hips and smiles at me.

“All done.”

She reaches for her phone, perched on the edge of the countertop, and laughs at what she sees on the screen.

“My little sister won’t stop texting me,” she says, letting out a breath, but her lips are curved up in the corners.

I take a sip of beer, then ask, “Is that who you were talking to this morning?”

She nods. “Yeah. Riley.”

“Sorry for interrupting.” I reach up, rubbing the back of my neck with one hand. “I’m not sure if you wanted to keep this—us—private.”

Her face does that thing it does when I’ve said something that I probably didn’t mean to.

“Us?” she asks.

I grin, trying to disguise my slip. “I mean, we do have matching toenails. That’s gotta count for something, right?” She can’t see it, but I wiggle my bare toes where they’re perched on the barstool.

Remi rolls her eyes at me, then goes back to her phone. A second later, music starts playing over the speakers. She puts the phone down, then returns to her kitchen workstation, where she starts to clean up. Immediately, I slide off my barstool and join her.

Together, we rinse bowls and wash dishes. As we clean, Remi hums along to the music, her head bobbing and hips swaying as she sprays the counter before swiping a cloth over it.

And finally, my hands refuse to obey. I find myself easing up behind her, slipping my hands onto her hips, pressing myself against her. She leans back against my chest as my arms encircle her waist, her head finding the spot just beneath my collarbone.

“So,” I say into her ear, her soft hair brushing my cheek, “besides pedis and grocery shopping, what else do you usually do on your days off?”

She puts the cloth down, then turns to face me, reaching up to drape her arms around my neck. “The gym, usually. Or I see friends or hang out with Ri. And sometimes I dance.”

I arch a brow, gently circling her hip bones with my thumbs. “Like, what you were just doing?”