Page 88 of Knotting on Heaven's Door

It was hypnotic.

Sebastian called out numbers without turning his head.Liam passed the bowls like they’d rehearsed it a thousand times. Together, they worked like a machine.

Hair pulled back. Sleeves rolled up. Flour smudged against his cheekbone like war paint. He looked completely at home in the chaos—like this was where he was always meant to be.

I leaned against a counter, sipping water like it could somehow calm the pounding in my chest.

Because this was everything.

The madness, the mess, the pressure so thick it left you breathless.

And him—dead center of it all. Holding his own. Running a station. No family name, no silver spoon. Just skill. Fire. And that goddamn smile that made my stomach somersault even now.

“Chef?” a voice cut in. One of the juniors, eyes wide, holding a bowl of aioli like it was a live bomb.

I blinked. “Taste it. If you wouldn’t lick the bowl clean, start over.”

He nodded, already turning back.

I looked at Sebastian again, watched him lift a slice of venison and hold it up to the light. Not satisfied, he shaved it even thinner, jaw set in stubborn perfectionism.

This man didn’t just fit into my chaos—he made it better.

“MIA!” one of the junior chefs shouted over the clatter of pans and boiling stock.

Mia’s head snapped toward the line. “Team three, break—twenty minutes. That means the rest of you better be gods in aprons!”

Steam rose from the burners like mist on a battlefield.

Sebastian walked up, drenched in sweat, a towel around his neck, grinning like a lunatic. His shirt was sticking to his back, his forearms glistening, face flushed from heat and adrenaline. Before I could stop him, he leaned in and kissed me—right in themiddle of the controlled chaos.

Mia’s voice exploded like a grenade behind him.

“Can you two NOT desecrate my kitchen while we’re feeding the goddamn elite?!”

Sebastian just laughed. “Worth it.”

I rolled my eyes, smiling despite myself. “How are you holding up?”

“Ask me again after dessert.” He stepped closer, dropped his voice so only I could hear it. “How areyou?”

I looked around. Tents humming. Staff focused. Plates beautiful. “I’m happy.”

He smiled like I’d just told him the world made sense again.

“Good.” He brushed my shoulder with his hand. “Let’s show them how it’s done.”

Before I knew it our brake was up.

Mia clapped loudly, commanding attention. “Break’s over, people! Let’s go!”

Sebastian turned toward the new wave of madness. “Salt cod up next! Poached in olive oil! Langoustine cigars—crispy, golden, don’t you dare burn them! And I want that Hermitage jus to look like velvet!”

Chaos bloomed again—flames, shouting, motion everywhere.

Then it happened.

A young trainee with shaking hands knocked over a tray of poached fish, sending it crashing to the ground. For a beat, the entire kitchen stilled, everyone waiting to see if I’d snap.

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