Page 65 of Knotting on Heaven's Door

“You’ll live.”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, and his expression shifted slightly—still amused, but softer. “What about you? Always wanted to run a catering company?”

“No,” I admitted. “I wanted to be a vet.”

He blinked. “Seriously?”

“Dead serious. I loved animals. I used to bring home every stray I found on the streets. Drove my parents crazy.”

“What changed?”

I hesitated, swirling my wine, watching the deep red catch the soft fairy lights he’d strung above us. “Life. Loss. You start cooking for people when you can’t feed the soul anymore.”

He nodded, like he understood more than he let on.

“My mom used to make arroz con leche on Sundays,” I added quietly. “It wasn’t anything fancy, just warm cinnamon and love. I guess I’ve been chasing that feeling ever since.”

Sebastian smiled. Not the charming one he wore like armor, but the real one—smaller, steadier. “I used to steal pastries from the bakery down the street from our house in Bordeaux. Not because I didn’t have money. But because the baker’s daughter would always catch me and call me acrétin magnifique.”

“Let me guess—your first crush?”

“Of course,” he said solemnly. “She had braces and threw sugar tongs at my head.”

I laughed again, and it felt like it shook something loose inside me. The tension. The walls. The endless countdown of pills and rules and what-ifs.

I leaned back in my chair, one hand instinctively drifting to my stomach. “I’m full,” I said, which was mostly true—until the waiter set a plate in front of me that looked like it belonged in an art gallery.

Dark chocolate mousse, delicate shards of spiced brittle,fresh berries dusted with edible gold, and a tiny scoop of what I could only guess was some kind of floral-infused sorbet.

I sighed. “Okay... maybeonemore bite.”

Sebastian chuckled softly across from me, swirling his wine. “I’m glad you’re enjoying the date.”

I shot him a look. “It’s not a date.”

He tilted his head, that slow, aggravating smile of his blooming like he wasso sureof himself. “If Ricky the realtor thinks the coffee I grabbed with him three weeks ago was a date, I’m allowed to consider this one too.”

I nearly choked on the mousse. “You know Ricky?”

“Oh, IknowRicky.” He took a sip of his wine, eyes glittering with amusement. “He practically proposed after showing me a two-bedroom with a broken radiator and a view of the dumpster.”

I laughed, genuinely and loudly. “Yeah, that sounds like him. I love Ricky—he’s vibrant, and he always knows the best gossip.”

“So I’ve heard,” Sebastian said. “That’s why I keep my windows closed.”

I smirked and toyed with a piece of brittle. “Is this your way of telling me I’ve got competition?”

He leaned forward, elbows resting on the table, eyes locked onto mine like he was measuring every word before he let it fall. “Didn’t know you were interested incompetingfor my heart.”

My stomach dipped. Damn him.

I set my fork down, the dessert suddenly forgotten.

“Ok, for real now. How much did this date actually cost you?” I asked, trying to sound casual. “Adrian may have given you the room, but the wine alone costs more than you make in a week.”

Sebastian grinned, that easy, infuriating confidence dancing in his eyes. “Glad you’re finally calling it what it is.”

“What?”

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