Page 64 of Knotting on Heaven's Door

“Chef Sebastian,” he added with a grin that made my stomach flip, “hopes you’ll enjoy the evening.”

I looked at his hand. Then the table. Then him.

I stared at the perfectly plated sope in front of me, steam curling from the blue corn base like a whispered promise, and tried to remember how to form a coherent sentence.

“But… you worked so hard today,” I said, still half in awe, half suspicious that I might’ve accidentally walked into someoneelse’s date. “You didn’t have to spend the last two hours cooking more.”

Sebastian leaned closer, voice dropping into that smooth, teasing register that always sent something unwanted fluttering in my chest.

“Okay, between you and me,” he said, eyes gleaming, “the sous-chef here helped with two of the courses. I’ll only admit it because I trust you won’t leak it to the press.”

I laughed, the sound slipping out of me before I could stop it. Damn him.

He poured himself a glass of wine and raised it in a quiet toast. “To not getting food poisoning on our first—sorry,not-date.”

I tapped my glass to his, eyes narrowing playfully. “Watch it, Laurente.”

The first bite was divine. Earthy, bright, fresh. I closed my eyes for a moment, savoring it.

“So,” I said after a beat, “how the hell did you pull this off? You sounded so damn proud earlier—I didn’t expect you to ask your family for help.”

He chewed thoughtfully, then set his fork down with a low hum, like he’d been waiting for the question. “You’re right about the pride thing,” he admitted. “That’s why I cooked most of the food myself. But I still needed a location that wouldn’t involve plastic forks or questionable meat.”

I raised a brow, amused.

“And… luck has it, when we were sixteen, Adrian and Karl came to visit my family in France. Adrian already had his license, and one night we decided to go for a joy ride.” He leaned back in his chair, smirking. “In my father’s classic 250 GTO.”

I choked on my wine. “You’re kidding.”

“Wish I was. Adrian scratched the side on a stone pillar. Not a big one, but enough to cause permanent trauma. His dadand mine would’ve ended him—he was the responsible one, the serious one, so no one expected it from him.”

“So what happened?”

“I took the blame.” He shrugged, like it was no big deal. “And the punishment. Couldn’t sit properly for days.”

“Oh my gods,” I laughed, hand over my mouth.

“He said he owed me one. Over the years, I forgot about it. But today…” His eyes twinkled, a little boyish, a little wolf. “I got to cash in on that favor.”

I looked at him—really looked at him. And for one long moment, I didn’t see the cocky alpha who pushed all my buttons.

I saw a man who hadn’t had a place of his own until last week, who carried his past like a second spine, and who had still found a way to givemesomething beautiful.

The wine flowed easily, loosening the edges of the long week wrapped tight around my shoulders. The second course came—chile en nogada, creamy and rich with just the right heat—and so did the laughter.

I couldn’t remember the last time I’d laughed like this. Not politely. Not for show. But the kind of laugh that started in your stomach and stole your breath on the way out.

Sebastian was funny. Not in that overcompensating, look-at-me alpha way, but dry, sarcastic, and just a little self-deprecating.

“Remember when Peter left the back door open last week and half the sandwiches got stolen by a raccoon?” he said between bites.

I grinned. “You meanmysandwiches?”

“He was clearly acting on my behalf. A gift from nature. The raccoon and I have an understanding.”

I snorted into my wine. “Right. And here I thought the raccoon had better plating skills than you.”

Sebastian pressed a hand to his heart, mock-wounded.“Ouch. That’s below the apron, boss.”

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