Page 55 of Knotting on Heaven's Door

I took off my glasses and set them on the desk, rubbing the bridge of my nose. My hand didn’t shake, but there was a heaviness pressing against my chest that hadn’t been there when we were talking about sauces and gas heaters.

“This…” I waved vaguely between us. “Whatever this is—we need to stop.”

He raised an eyebrow, cool and infuriatingly unreadable. “What exactlyisthis?”

I didn’t look at him. Couldn’t. “Flirting. Tension. Games. The late-night texting, the innuendos, the kissing in the kitchen like a pair of hormonal teenagers.”

“Hey,” he said, half-grinning. “That was excellent tension relief.”

“I’m serious.”

His smirk faded, just a little.

“I’m not saying I didn’t enjoy it. I did,” I said, voice low. “But this dance between us? It’s not sustainable. And it sure as hell isn’t smart.”

He shifted his weight, arms still crossed. “Because I’m your employee?”

“Partly.”

His eyes narrowed. “Because I’m broke? Disowned? Some tragic fucking stray you feel bad for?”

My heart twisted, but my voice stayed steady. “No. Gods, no.”

Then, quieter, I added, “I’ve been poor, Sebastian. Real poor. Grew up in a one-bedroom apartment with parents who worked sixteen-hour days to keep the lights on. I built De la Vega Events with grit and secondhand kitchen gear. I’ve slept on a tiled floor with no AC in July. I’ve had weeks where the only thing in my fridge was baking soda and regret.”

He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to.

“But I’ve also beenbroken,” I whispered. “The kind of grief that doesn’t just steal your breath—it makes you forget how to exist without someone. That kind of loss doesn’t leave. It just gets quieter. And I learned the hard way that love… real love… comes with risk. It comes with threads. Bonds. Forever things.”

I looked up then, meeting his gaze dead-on.

“And I don’t want a future where someone else’s absence could destroy me again.”

His mouth opened. Closed. Like he was trying to find a foothold, something to say that didn’t sound like pressure.

“So you have rules,” he said softly.

“Three nights,” I said. “No matter how good it is. That’s when things get dangerous.”

“And we’ve had two.”

“Exactly.”

He studied me for a long moment, then nodded, jaw tight. “Understood.”

I swallowed the knot in my throat. “We have work to do. A massive event coming up. And you’re talented, Sebastian. More than I expected. I don’t want to risk this job for either of us.”

There was a silence between us that felt too sharp to breathe in.

Then he exhaled slowly, the corner of his mouth twitching with something unreadable. “You know… I’ve been told I’m hardto forget.”

“I’m sure you are,” I said, standing and smoothing my skirt. “But I’ve been through worse.”

And I had. Gods knew I had.

I twirled my glasses between my fingers—slow, nervous, the metal frames knocking a soft rhythm against the desk. Anything to keep my eyes off him.

Sebastian drew a long breath, hands sliding into his pockets. “I get it, Ada. Really.” His tone was quiet, stripped of its usual smug polish. “Just… before we bury this completely, you should know you’re not the only one who’s scared of threads.”

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