“And you’re a masterful avoider, but it’s okay. Pappy isn’t the only one in the family who can get people to spill their secrets.” He winks and heat instantly creeps up my neck.
“There’s really nothing to say. The hotline is impersonal, easy, there are rules.”
His chuckle ripples through my body like a wave hitting the shore. “How’d those rules work out for Beck and Stella?”
I know through Elijah, who’s friends with both Beck and Stella, that they had a little helping hand in falling in love via the hotline—the helper being Elijah.
“There’s always the exception to the rule. More than one now, I guess. Lottie’s very good with her permanent matches, but Iamthe rule—I’m temporary.”
Silence descends, and try as I might, I can’t keep my gaze from sliding to his. A shiver rolls through my body when I find him already staring at me.
“That sounds…lonely.”
I lift one shoulder. “People can be lonely in a room full of people or sleeping next to someone they love. Being intentionally alone means nothing else can hurt you.”
Fuck. What am I doing?Stop talking, Rowan. Keep that shit in your head. Biting my tongue, I focus my attention on the quiet waves as they roll in and out.
The moon casts a long streak of white across the dark expanse of water, and I love that too—one streak of light in an otherwise dark world.
“Nothing else, or no one else?” His voice is thick, as though my words have struck a nerve.
“Same thing, isn’t it?” The salty air licks my skin as a breeze kicks up, and I wrap my arms around my knees to ward off a chill.
“I’m not so sure,” he replies, then finishes his beer with one gulp. “I do know my divorce was finalized months ago, but I still hate my ex-wife, my ex-best friend, and myself. But none of that means I want to be alone forever.”
He’s so open, too open, and I’m not as unaffected as I’m pretending to be.
“She cheated?” I ask, already knowing the answer. Something about Sebastian Walker makes me want to be someone he confides in.
He leans forward, resting his forearms on his knees, and nods. “We all caught her at Seren’s school recital with my best friend—who’s now trying to blackmail me or threatening to sell his shares of the company my grandmother built from nothing to my biggest rival in the industry.”
This poor family. The boiling heat of hatred swirls in my gut on his behalf. “That’s on them, though. You’re not responsible for other people’s actions, Sebastian.”
“No, I’m not. But I also didn’t do anything when I felt lonely sleeping next to someone I vowed to love, so I do have some culpability.”
How did this conversation spiral into something that’s too personal, too intimate, too…everything?
“You, ah, you really are an open book, huh?” I welcome the cold that slips down my throat when I chug my beer.
Seb runs both hands through his hair, the action harsh and at odds with the man I imagine he’s become. His arm brushes against mine with the movement, scorching my skin with his flame. But it’s not that pain that jolts me to life—it’s electricity, and lightning, and bombs in the night.
I stand quickly, and he peers up at me with a crooked grin that reminds me of the sweet twelve-year-old boy who’d check on me every time I’d try to hide.
“No one has ever called me an open book before.” His whisper is a seduction I can’t fall victim to. “Quite the opposite, actually. Maybe it’s you who has some of Pappy’s magic.”
I swallow, and it might as well be cement going down.
“Listen, I didn’t mean to dump all that on you.” He sighs, and it’s as though all his confidence expels from his body with each heavy exhale. “But it’s good that you know. It all came to a head at Seren’s recital, and she’s so full of rage because of it. I can’t even get her to touch the piano since, so that’s actually why I’m here. I wanted to thank you for playing with her earlier. I—I haven’t been able to reach her. She’s completely closed herself off.”
He stands a step below me, and it puts us so close that his scent envelops me—clean laundry, peppermint, and something so manly it causes me to lick my dry lips. Even though my inner self is screaming into the silence, begging me to step back, my legs refuse to put space between us.
“She’s very talented, but she probably needs some time. Music is in her soul. She’ll come around.”
He tilts his head, and I can read the questions in his eyes. He wants to know why I don’t play anymore, but that answer is a bit more complicated.
My hand lands on his biceps, and I’m so shocked, I stare at the connection for a beat too long before snatching it away. “Sorry. Um, I’m happy to help. We’ll find you a permanent solution when all the nannies get here.”
He opens his mouth to say something, but we’re interrupted by a loud popping sound, and before I can blink, we’re both covered in a thick, white, milky solution that smells like shaving cream.
