Page 10 of The Sun & Her Burn

“I’m afraid I must whisk her away,” Sebastian declared without taking his eyes off me. I watched as he fished out some money from a clip in his pocket and tossed it on the table. Two hundred-dollar bills flashed up at me. “That should cover Linnea’s champagne.”

“It was sparkling water,” I corrected. “I just like drinking it in a fancy glass so I feel included with the drinkers.”

Humor creased the skin beside those magnificent eyes.

“You are just what I needed to brighten this godawful day,” he told me as he bent to grab my large purse from the ground beside my chair. Instead of handing it to me, he tucked it under his arm. There was something strangely attractive about it, an assuredness in his masculinity that you didn’t often see in men. Without hesitation, he ushered me through the restaurant with a hand on my lower back. The abrasion of his calloused fingertips against the sensitive skin there made my entire body flush with heat.

I wound my arm through his and beamed up at him, warmed by the fact that a decade of separation seemed to have been obliterated as if it had never happened. “The beach always makes me feel better. Should we dip our toes in the sand?”

“We should,” he agreed. “And we should eat ice cream.”

“Definitely,” I said on a laugh, because I had forgotten that Sebastian was always hungry. “Ice cream and the ocean, a magical combination.”

“Like this hair,” he said, sobering a little as he pushed tangled waves off my shoulder to flow down my back. “And your indigo eyes.”

“Charmer,” I scolded. “You know that won’t work on me.”

It was a bald-faced lie. My heart was racing, my palms sweating, my belly alive with a million butterflies. But I must have been a better actor than I thought, because Sebastian threw his head back to laugh and said, “I know. I have never been enough for you despite my best efforts.”

I was clever enough not to push my luck and lie again.

Sebastian hadthe good manners not to comment on my 1991 Jeep, which was held together with a little too much duct tape,when I led him to where it was parked so I could drive us to the beach. He just blinked at it with a slight frown between his thick brows, tongue stuck in one cheek like he was holding himself back from saying something. In the end, he sighed audibly and opened the passenger door in one try even though it had a bad tendency to stick.

I hurriedly moved the cloth swatches off his seat so he could sit down, shoving them into the back alongside an old sewing machine I kept meaning to get fixed and a bag of clothes I’d salvaged from the local Salvation Army to repurpose for my own designs.

He didn’t comment on the mess, either.

It made me fall just a little bit more in love with him.

Especially when the only things he did make note of were the two surfboards strapped to the roof rack.

“You still surf.” There was a smile in his tone even though I couldn’t see him as I focused on pulling out of the tight spot and heading west to the ocean.

“Probably too much,” I admitted. “I try to get out as much as I can. It’s one of the only things that brings me peace these days.”

There was a brief silence where I winced, knowing that Sebastian was observant enough to pick up on the implication that my life was stressful. I didn’t want to spend my undoubtedly brief time with him talking about Miranda, so I bit my lip and manifested him glancing over this, too.

A moment later, he did.

“I try to get out when I can, too,” he said, adjusting in the seat that was much too small for his frame.

“New York isn’t exactly a mecca for surfing.”

“No, but Long Island isn’t far. Cold as bollocks, though.” He shivered, which made me laugh. “It’s much better when I can pop out here, but I try to keep my visits short and busy.”

“So you can go home to the city,” I surmised. “How are the Lombardi women?”

I slid my gaze to him because I knew the smile he’d have on his face would be worth the effort to see it.

“Amazing,” he said proudly. “Mama’s restaurant won another award, and even though she’s had offers to open others, she says she is happy cooking in Little Italy. Elena is, well, kicking ass and taking names like she always has, but now she’s doing it making scads of money and representing some fairly eccentric characters. I think I told you she fell in love with Dante Salvatore?”

I nodded, because he had, but also because I had read about the scandal in the papers along with everyone else. Dante Salvatore was a suspected mafioso who had met his now-wife when she represented him in his murder and racketeering case. Famously, they had won the case and taken down United States District Attorney Dennis O’Malley at the same time. I could still summon the image of Elena and Dante’s courtroom kiss from the front page of theNew YorkTimes. It had even become a popular GIF.

“They have three kids now,” he continued. “It’s amazing, honestly. All her success, and the thing that brings my ambitious sister the most joy is her family. I never thought I’d see the day.”

His voice carried so much warmth that I could feel it heating the air between us. It made me yearn for brothers or sisters myself.

“Giselle actually just accepted a position as a guest lecturer at the California Institute of Arts, so she, Sinclair, and their two kids will be here for the next year.” He spoke as if he couldn’t believe his luck, having his family so close while he had to be on the other side of the country from them. “I have to be in town for a while to campaign for award season, so it is good to have family close.”