Page 60 of Sebastian

“Call me Zio Paolo.”

His laughter echoes as they exit and plunge me into my thoughts.

“Papa Sebastian.”

I test out the idea of fatherhood. The thought is overwhelming, and I throw the highball glass at the roaring fireplace, the shards scattering on the floor.

“Fuck that.”

16

CHLOE

The insistent ringing of my doorbell, followed by a series of loud, impatient knocks this early in the morning, causes Jinkies to hide underneath the couch. I can’t recall a time I’ve had a visitor this early except when my neighbor locked herself out, and maintenance wasn’t answering the hotline.

I look through the peephole, shocked to see Sebastian clutching the doorframe and looking down the hallway. I honestly have no idea how he got past the building’s security. I open the door to find a disheveled and exhausted-looking Sebastian clutching a bouquet of flowers and holding take-out food.

“Sebastian?” I say, both surprised and concerned, as I open the door wider to get a better look at him. “How did you get in?”

He seems genuinely flustered as he stammers, “Can I come in?”

His eyes roam from the towel wrapped around my hair to the green mask on my face. I tug my robe tighter before stepping to the side.

“Uh, yeah, sure.”

Sebastian walks inside, looking out of sorts and glancing around my apartment as if searching for something. I can’t quite discern what. It’s clear that he’s agitated, and I’m not sure what to make of this.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, closing the door behind me and stuffing my hands in the pockets of my robe.

“These are for you. I hope you like daisies, I swiped them off the table while waiting for the order,” he admits, looking even more pitiful. Sure as can be, there is a little white vase with a ribbon tied into a bow and three brightly colored daisies peering out.

“I love daisies,” I say, and his shoulders relax. Not sure if I like stolen daisies, but I place them on the center of my breakfast table.

“I know it’s early, and I probably shouldn’t be here, but I needed to see you.”

He avoids making eye contact as I lean my hip against the table.

“You didn’t respond to my text messages, and when I found out that you had already left . . . I know I fucked up, Chloe. I’m sorry about last night.”

I raise an eyebrow, curious about where this is going.

“You look like you’ve had a rough night.”

He takes a deep breath, drops the food on the table, and collapses into a chair. It squeaks beneath him, not used to holding his muscular frame, and he casts a dubious eye at it before motioning for me to sit.

“I have. I’m hungover as fuck. Chloe, I shouldn’t have asked you to leave. Or implied you had to. I don’t know which. I’m sorry.”

His tone is regretful, more than it should be for a simple misunderstanding.

It could have been my overreaction last night, but when he asked to speak to her privately and how she looked at me, I knew she was more than an old friend. I knew exactly what she wanted and hoped that Sebastian would stand up for me, choose me, and tell her to leave. When the reverse happened, I was hurt and felt somewhat abandoned by him, a common theme among the men I have dated.

The guilty look on his face solidified my decision to leave the party entirely. I had thrown myself into helping him to the point that I took over and made it my own. Even when I was drowning at work, I could have spent the time getting caught up on my responsibilities, especially the troubling ad campaign. But I didn’t. I put all my energy into his event to make it great for his staff, and he didn’t appreciate it. It was another hard lesson learned at my expense.

I knew I was leaving and heading home when I ascended the staircase. In the quiet of my apartment, I’d had plenty of time to reflect on our time together and realized I was foolish to get so invested in him early on. I should have played it cool, but I took Taylor’s advice, threw caution to the wind, and dove headfirst into this indulgence. Now, just days later, it’s falling apart, and I’m not sure why he’s bringing food and flowers here this morning.

“Is that why you brought me flowers and what I can assume is breakfast?”

“Sort of.”

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