Page 28 of Sweet Sinners

Chapter twenty-four

Cali

E verything Connor cooks is perfect.

Not just good. Not just delicious. Perfect .

Like he knows exactly what I need, exactly what will lift my mood. Like he understands something about me I don’t even understand myself.

The Tteokbokki is no exception—cheesy, hearty, with just the right kick of spice. It’s addictive. Even as the heat burns my lips, even as my nose turns pink from the spice, I want more. Each bite lingers, stretching the moment, the comfort, the warmth.

I pick up a thick rice cake, dragging it through the sauce before bringing it to my lips. It hovers there for a second, the anticipation making my stomach tighten. Then I draw it in, savoring the molten cheese inside, letting out a quiet, appreciative sigh before swallowing.

The second the sound leaves me, Connor’s gaze snaps to my mouth.

It’s subtle, just a flicker, a moment of hesitation, but I see it. The way his throat bobs as he swallows. The way his jaw tightens just a fraction before he schools his expression.

Oh.

Something flickers in my stomach, hot and restless.

"You like it?" he asks, his voice rougher than before, like he had to clear it first.

I swallow, pushing past the tension curling between us. "It’s perfect," I say, my voice softer than I mean for it to be. "I couldn’t imagine a better way to start the week."

That gets me a small, almost hesitant smile. One that flickers, just barely there, like it’s unfamiliar now.

And it is.

The carefree boy I remember, the one who smirked without restraint, who laughed easily, who teased me just to get a reaction, that boy isn’t here anymore.

Connor was always cocky, always reckless, but there was a lightness to him back then. Now, it’s like every word is weighed, every movement calculated, every expression filtered through years of something I can’t touch. Something I wasn't there for.

Prison didn’t just change him.

It carved him into someone else.

Someone sharper.

Someone who watches me a little too closely.

And for the first time, I realize—

I’m watching him right back .

As Connor stretches his legs beneath the table, his foot brushes against mine—just a fleeting touch, but enough to pull me from my meal. I glance up, realizing he hasn't gone for seconds. Considering I'm nearly done with my second heaping plate, something flickers in me.

"You should eat more," I say, nudging him gently.

He arches an eyebrow, that hint of his old humor glinting in his eyes. "Are you critiquing my eating habits now?"

"You made it, Connor. It stands to reason you should be enjoying it at least as much as I am," I grumble, setting my fork down with a soft clatter.

I've always been methodical about how I eat—paced, organized, controlled. My father drilled into me that control is paramount, that chaos leads to mistakes. But sitting here, full and warm from the meal, I ignore the urge to stop just because I've met some arbitrary limit in my head.

"Finish your plate," Connor insists, light but firm. "I'll take it personally if you don’t."

Before I can argue, he scoops more onto his own plate, like he’s trying to coax me into eating more by doing the same. It's annoyingly effective. By the time I swallow the last bite, I groan, letting my head tip back against the chair. "I’m so full."

His mouth quirks in amusement. "That good?"

I could get used to that look on his face. The rare, easy smile. The way his sharp edges smooth just enough to remind me of the boy I used to know.

"If there's any left, I’m taking it to work tomorrow. And I’ll be bragging about how good it is." I stretch my arms above my head before dropping them to my lap. "Seriously, it beats most restaurants I've been to. "

Connor holds my gaze for a beat too long, and something shifts in the air between us.

I don’t want to analyze it. I don’t want to entertain thoughts of anything more than what we are.

But it’s impossible to ignore how compelling he is, how he carries himself now with an ease that isn’t arrogance anymore—it’s control.

He doesn’t have to raise his voice to command attention.

He doesn’t have to throw punches to hold power.

He just exists. And that alone is enough.

I lick my bottom lip, breaking the moment, my voice threading with concern. "How’s your finger?"

He lifts his hand, flexing his fingers. "No bleeding through. It’s tender, but that’s to be expected. I’ve had worse."

"That doesn’t mean I’m letting you work with glass again," I warn, my tone firm.

His smirk deepens, full of challenge. "And how would you know? You’re at work all day."

I narrow my eyes, tilting my chin just a little higher. "I’ll notice. I have sharp eyes. And I’ll guilt you into taking better care of yourself."

"Ah, emotional manipulation," he muses, obviously enjoying my tactics. "You really are the CEO."

"It’s for your own good," I fire back, matching his smirk. Then, softer, I add, "If you get hurt, I’ll have to take a day off, at the very least. And even if I don’t, I’ll be here, worrying about you instead of dealing with lawsuits and scandals."

I sigh, running a hand through my hair.

A moment of silence stretches between us. I half-expect Connor to start picking apart my words, pressing for details, trying to fix things like he always does. But as the seconds tick by, the quiet lingers, thick and weighted. For the first time, I wonder if I’ve said too much .

Then he leans forward, his gaze locked onto mine, voice softer than I expect. “You worry about me?”

I swallow. “When… when you give me a reason to worry,” I admit, my voice barely above a whisper. The words slip out before I can stop them, and they feel like too much, like I just handed him something I can’t take back.

Under the table, his foot brushes against mine again, and I tense.

It’s the smallest touch, fleeting and unintentional, but my whole body locks up in response.

I need to break this moment, to steer us away from whatever unspoken thing is thickening the air between us but I can't think of anything, too lost in my own head.

“What else do you worry about?” he murmurs, voice low, coaxing, like he already knows there’s more.

I exhale, shifting in my chair. “Work stuff,” I answer, but it feels inadequate, like a pathetic attempt to put distance between us.

“Work stuff,” he repeats, nodding slightly, like those two words somehow hold the weight of everything pressing down on me. “You already tackled the embezzlement. And the relationship rumors. What’s left?”

I hesitate, feeling the heat of frustration creep up my spine.

“The person leaking to the press,” I say, my voice sharper now.

“It started right after I took over. That’s not a coincidence.

” I push my plate away, shaking my head.

“It feels like someone’s gunning for me.

Or trying to sink the company. I don’t know who to trust anymore, and paranoia is becoming my new normal. ”

Connor watches me for a beat, then stands, gathering the dishes without a word.

I blink. “Connor, you don’t have to—”

He silences me with a raised hand, carrying our plates to the sink like it’s nothing, like this is just routine.

“You’re grinding day in and day out, Cali,” he says, flicking the faucet on.

The rush of water fills the space between us.

“The least I can do is help out here. Plus, I think I’m close to winning Maya over.

The staff still doesn’t know what to do with me. ”

I huff a small laugh. “I wasn’t waiting for you to do that.”

His back is to me, but I can see the way his shoulders shift, the way he pauses, as if considering something before speaking again.

“Anyone at work giving you bad vibes?” he asks, his voice casual, but there’s an edge to it—like he already knows I have a name in mind.

“Might sound small, but your instincts are usually right.”

I think about it, running through every face, every interaction. Anna’s been slipping up more than usual, but maybe I’m reading too much into it. Jackson hasn’t given me any trouble lately, but that doesn’t mean I should let my guard down.

“Maybe,” I admit. “I’ll have to make a list.”

Connor glances over his shoulder, smirking. “You love your damn lists.”

I do. They help me sort out the chaos in my head.

And right now, I need that more than ever.

Yeah. A list sounds like a good place to start.