❄ Sebastian ❄
Camille’s kitchen felt smaller than it should have. Not because of the size. Because of the stakes. Her apartment wasn’t fancy, but it was clean and lived-in. The kind of place that showed who she was without trying. Everything had a purpose. Everything had a place. No clutter. No softness unless it was earned. I stood near her counter with my sleeves rolled up, watching her slice vegetables with a focus that would have made an entire team nervous at work.
“You are hovering,” she muttered without looking up.
“I’m assessing,” I corrected, and she snorted.
“You are in my house. You don’t get to assess,”
“Ah, yes, but I do get to help,” I replied as I reached for another cutting board. Camille’s knife paused, and she glanced at me, her eyes sharp.
“Help, or control?”
“He
