Page 5 of Knotting on Heaven's Door

CHAPTER 2

Ada

Turns outSebastianwas interesting.

Not in the forced, look-at-me way most Alpha males were, either. He didn’t try too hard. Didn’t need to. He asked smart questions, listened when I answered, and made me laugh with these offhanded, dry little comments that slipped past his smirk like they weren’t carefully calculated. I caught on fast—he was the kind of man who noticed everything, filed it away behind sharp blue eyes and well-timed charm.

And gods, he smelled good.

The kind of scent that lingered even after he walked away. Subtle. Expensive. Warm spice and something woodsy that made me feel dizzy if I breathed too deep.

We talked under the soft glow of the lanterns for what felt like minutes but had to have been hours. Somewhere between the second bottle of champagne and a stolen canapé from a passing tray, he tucked a strand of hair behind my ear and said, “You know, I’m starting to think fate handed me that glass just to meet you.”

I rolled my eyes. “That line usually work?”

“You are smiling... so...”

I laughed. Actually laughed.

And it felt good.

We didn’t talk about names or futures or what happened after sunrise. I didn’t ask. I didn’t want to know.

Now and then, I allowed myself a little fun. A night. A moment. Something that lived between the hours of dusk and dawn and didn’t follow me home. I kept it light, kept it clean. Never more than three rounds. By the third, men started whispering promises. Reaching for parts of me I no longer offered. Round four was where mistakes lived. Where grief started mistaking itself for hope.

So I never let it get that far.

Sebastian felt safe in the way temporary things always did. Handsome, charming, probably used to five-star hotels and silk sheets. He had that breezy, well-fed confidence of a man who’d never worried about rent or heartbreak. The type who didn’t unpack anywhere long enough to leave a dent in the pillows.

He never said he was leaving.

But he didn’t have to.

Men like him didn’t stay in small towns like Blue Springs. Not after ceremonies like this one. He’d come for his cousin, smiled his way through the family obligations, and he’d fly back to whatever penthouse or vineyard or beach villa he called home before the week was over.

We caught a cab to his hotel—one of those sleek, modern towers that gleamed like money. I Ran by A Flock of Seagulls played softly on the radio, and without thinking, I hummed along. He glanced over, lips curving like he wanted to say something clever but decided against it.

“You’re a fan of eighties synthpop?” he asked, grinning.

“Only when it plays during impulsive life choices,” I said a bit embarrassed.

He laughed, low and warm, and something about the sound made me sink just a little deeper into the seat.

The lobby smelled like leather, citrus, and entitlement. His hand was warm around mine as we stepped into the elevator, the silence between us thick with want. Not nerves. Not questions.Just that slow, inevitable pull toward something reckless.

His suite was exactly what I expected—minimalist luxury. Dark wood floors, low golden lighting, and floor-to-ceiling windows that framed the night like a painting. A leather armchair sat angled toward a fireplace that probably turned on with a remote, and the bed—king-sized and impossibly pristine—waited like a promise.

The door clicked shut behind us.

And then he kissed me.

Hungry.

Hands in my hair, mouth claiming mine like he’d been thinking about it since the moment we met. Maybe he had. Maybe I had, too.

His jacket hit the floor. My heels followed. I barely had time to register the soft lighting, the city skyline glittering through the floor-to-ceiling windows, before he backed me into the wall with a groan and kissed me harder.

He tasted like champagne and danger. Like choices I shouldn’t be making.

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