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I hesitate, torn. I should go back to my room. Keep my distance, like Mary said.
But the thought of facing those shadows alone… I shudder. Couch it is. I make my way over to him, perching on the edge, ready to bolt at any moment.
“Here.” Sebastian hands me his glass. “Drink. It’ll help.”
“What is it?”
“Whiskey.”
I eye the liquid. “Really?”
“Works for me.”
It’s worth a try. I tip the glass back, wincing as the alcohol burns its way down my throat and settles in my stomach. Odd. It tastes like chocolate.
“Since we’re friends again, how about baking some of your famous cupcakes?”
I blink. “Cupcakes?”
“Yeah. You love baking. Always said it was therapeutic. Helps you sleep.”
“I-It does.” I used to stress-bake all the time back in college, our tiny dorm kitchen constantly filled with the lingering smell of chocolate and sugar.
“So?” He stands, holding out a hand. “What do you say, princess?”
A laugh bubbles up my throat, bright and unexpected. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Is that a yes?”
I place my hand in his, letting him tug me to my feet. “Lead the way, Cake Boss.”
I rummage through Sebastian’s cupboards, surprised to find them fully stocked with baking essentials. Flour, sugar, vanilla extract, and even unique ingredients like Dutch-processed cocoa and espresso powder. It’s like walking into a gourmet bakery.
“Okay, what’s with the fully loaded pantry?” I arch a brow at him, holding up a jar of Madagascar bourbon vanilla beans. “Last I checked, you weren’t exactly the baking type.”
He shrugs, a picture of nonchalance, as he leans against the counter. “I like to be prepared.”
“For what, the apocalypse? Or a sudden urge to whip up a soufflé at 2 am?”
He grins, snagging the jar from my hand and placing it back on the shelf. “Maybe I wanted to be ready in case a pretty girl decided to bake me cupcakes.”
“Right. You regularly have pretty girls over.”
“Only one.” His gaze holds mine, and the air between us becomes charged, electric.
I clear my throat, turning back to the cupboard. “So, chocolate or vanilla?”
“Chocolate.” He reaches past me for the cocoa powder. “Always chocolate.”
His chest brushes against my back, and I suck in a breath, every nerve ending suddenly on high alert.
Roommates. He’s my roommate. My extremely hot, infuriatingly charming roommate who knows precisely which buttons to push.
“Chocolate it is.” I bustle around the kitchen, my movements jerky, measuring ingredients and ignoring the heat of his gaze on my back.
His hands come to rest on the counter on either side of me, caging me in. “What do you need me to do?”
“Um, you can…” His breath tickles the hair on my neck, and I let out a whimper. “You can grease the pan. And preheat the oven.”