Page 6 of Worth the Heat
I sigh. “He just had a baby. Don’t involve him. All of your brothers have families. If something else happens, you contact me, okay? Let me handle it.”
Silence ensues for a few moments as Isabella ponders my words. I cast a quick glance at Trace, who swipes at his phone, but is very clearly listening to this conversation. Finally, Isabella speaks, and I’m unprepared for the vitriol that oozes from her voice. “Why do you want to help me so much? Did my brothers tell you to keep tabs on me? Am I some kind of bullshit bet? I never understood why you showed interest in me. I’m not a toy, Sebastian.”
“Woah, what the fuck?” I blurt out. “I never said you were a toy, and I’m certainly not playing games with you. I’ve asked you out at least a dozen times. Have you said no every time because you thought it was a game or a bet?”
She shrugs, the tension evident in her shoulders. “If the shoe fits.”
I tilt my head back, looking up at the ceiling. “I didn’t realize you thought so poorly of me.”
“What am I supposed to think?” she exclaims, gesturing up and down my body. “You look likethat, and I’m me! We are not equal.”
My phone vibrates in my hand, and I quickly look at the screen to see a text from Trace.
Trace: Circle back. She’s picking a fight to get off the topic of her safety.
Fuck. He’s completely right.
I step closer to Isabella, watching as she slowly inches backward until she runs into the counter. Once our shoes touch, I lean forward until my lips are next to her ear. She shivers as my breath skirts over her skin, and I revel in that small victory. “You are not a bet. I would never play games with you, because I’d fucking lose every time. You are an absolute goddess, and if you ever allow me theprivilegeof taking you out, I’ll spend every fucking moment worshiping you until you see yourself the way that I see you. You are spectacular,mi Cielo. You may not want to tell me your ex-boyfriend’s name, but I will find out. Now get your things so I can escort you back to your apartment. I know you’re about to close, and I’ll feel better if I can see you safely home.”
I dip my nose into her hair, taking a deep inhale of roses, vanilla, and a hint of sugar, and hoping I never forget how this smells. How it feels to be this close to Isabella. I honestly can’t believe she’s allowed me to be in her space this long —
Hands hit my pecs before Isabella pushes with all her might, shoving me six feet back. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing, Sebastian, but it better be from this far away.”
God, I wish she’d let me take care of her. Let me into her orbit. Trust that I’ve only had eyes for her for as long as I can remember.Sure, I’ve scratched an itch here and there when I felt it was needed, but no one truly interested me like Isabella always has.
But if I can’t save her, I can at least build her confidence, so she never thinks she’s less than. The fear in her eyes only moments ago has been replaced by fire, grit, and determination. And that’s the Isabella I know.
ISABELLA
Aloud meow next to my face is followed immediately by one paw patting my nose and I shriek in surprise as my body twitches. Looking over at my ginger cat, affectionately named Butterscotch, I raise an eyebrow. “What?”
He loudly meows again, before burrowing his head between the couch cushion and my shoulder. I sigh loudly, looking toward the kitchen to see the time on the microwave. Eight o’clock. I’m not sure what time I fell asleep, as I rarely allow myself to even sit on my couch, much less nap there. I have no memory of anything after I walked into my apartment.
When I found this one-bedroom space, I immediately knew it was for me. A bright and airy kitchen with two large windows that look out toward a forest. The large island could fit six or eight stools, but my two are perfect for me to eat breakfast while Butterscotch watches, patiently waiting to see if I’ll give him some milk. The wall that runs the length of the apartment is red brick, except for a small section in the living room where a wood-burning fireplace is the focus.
While the kitchen appliances have been upgraded, the rest of the apartment has not. Which is why I consider myself so lucky to have an actual claw-foot tub that I use for baths almost every day. I’m on my feet for eight to ten hours a day, and my hands take ahell of a beating making all the pastries, donuts, and cookies I dish out daily. My workload tends to double during the summer months, as the tourist traffic increases exponentially, and I’m able to hire on students on summer break to help out. I typically enjoy summertime, because the extra help means I can relax slightly, but right now, I’m so damn exhausted.
The shit with Rick and Amelia, then Rick showing up at the bakery, and whatever the hell that was with Sebastian — I’m so drained. Did he really say it would be a privilege to take me out? How is that even possible?
As Sebastian drove me home, I felt oddly comfortable in his truck. I typically walk to and from work, as it’s only a few blocks, but I couldn’t complain once I settled into the passenger seat. His truck smelled divine, with elements of his cologne and the leather in the car, but he kept his arm on the console between the seats. I couldn’t help but imagine what it might be like if he slid his arm over to hold my hand. Or better yet, if he rested his hand on my thigh. Usually, I’m not into affection in public. I chalk this odd feeling up to assuming any woman would want to touch him, to stake their claim.
Sebastian is gorgeous. Absolutely breathtaking. I’m not without eyes. He’s a couple of inches over six feet, with tan skin and dark brown eyes that sparkle with mirth in almost all situations. His hair and beard, so dark they’re almost black, make me want to reach out and touch them. I also want to know what his face looks like without the beard … but I want to know what his beard feels like all over my body. I bet it hurts so good.
Not that I’ll ever find out. Sebastian can talk all he wants. But I’mme, and he’s well above my pay grade. I bet I could pick his last five girlfriends out of a lineup. Blond, blue eyes, lots of makeup, and at most a size six. Not me, coming in at a size sixteen on a good day. My brown hair is straight as a board, nothing like the beautifulcurls my sister Gianna got, or the waves Arianna has. They’re both rocking olive complexions, whereas I pulled some random gene out of thin air and look more northern European than anyone else in my family. If I didn’t have my dad’s nose, I’d think my mom stepped out on him. I know she never would, though. Nick and Sofia Santo love each other passionately, and our entire town knows it.
All around me, I see perfect examples of love. None of my siblings ever thought they’d find love, or felt they deserved it. Hell, we even have this stupid Santo tradition of being carried across the threshold at my parents’ house to prove we’ve found our true loves. I’ve tried it twice, and both were blatant disappointments. I tripped, dropping my high school boyfriend, and my college boyfriend broke up with me on the spot, saying he couldn’t afford to chance throwing out his back because of how much I weighed. I attempted to explain that I had to carry him, but his tires left marks on the driveway before I even got a sentence out.
While it definitely left me down in the dumps, it didn’t really change my outlook on my own body. I love my body. I have curves, and I love them. I love food. I love cooking and baking. I’ll never force myself to give up the joys in my life because of some stupid archaic thinking about body types and happiness. And who the hell would trust a stick-thin pastry chef? I certainly wouldn’t.
It’s also why I doubt I’ll be bothering with dating for quite some time. I’ve developed a foolproof way of determining if someone is worth any effort. One of my favorite desserts is creme brûlée. The best I’ve ever had was at a steak restaurant in Colorado Springs, of all places, and I almost wept with joy as I finished my bowl. I’ve been fine-tuning a recipe ever since, determined to replicate their version. So, I think about that dessert. If I had to choose between a potential date and a serving of cremebrûlée, which would I choose? Yeah, the dessert wins every damn time.
My phone buzzes, and I tap the screen to see what the notification is. A text chain with the Santo women pops up.
Hannah: Okay, who was responsible for picking the book club book this month? I have a massive bone to pick with you.
Kate: That’s what she said.
Hannah: Oh shut up.
