Page 108 of After Midnight

And there he is, standing at the island, chopping up what look to be red bell peppers while something fragrant sizzles in the skillet on the stove.

My breath hitches when I see him.

He notices me a moment later, and when his eyes catch on mine, I see how much concern lingers there. His brow is gently furrowed, lips pressed into a firm line. When I step toward him, he immediately puts the knife down, wipes his hands on a kitchen rag, then meets me halfway. His arms come around me, and he holds me tight to his chest.

His heart beats against me, the rhythm steady and slow. He’s firm and warm and real.

“I thought I dreamt you,” I say against his chest.

He reaches up to stroke a hand down my hair. “Not a dream.” His lips press a kiss to the top of my head. “Did I wake you?”

I shake my head. “No. I smelled coffee though.”

“You want some?”

I nod.

“I’ll get it. You wanna sit while I finish breakfast?”

I end up seated at the island, cup of coffee warming my palms, watching Seb as he continues to dice and stir.

“What are you making?” I ask, then take a sip of coffee.

“Tofu scramble,” Seb says proudly. “I put in a grocery order while you were sleeping.”

“I thought you weren’t any good at cooking,” I say, then find myself smiling, just a little, from behind my mug.

“I’m not. But Nora taught me how to make this, and she’s a great cook.” He scrapes the pan and turns the heat down. “You’ll have to try her cooking sometime.” His gaze flicks to me, and I see some hint of hesitation there.

Because what he’s saying without saying it is that he wants me to come back to Cali.

I lower my mug and nod. “I’d like that. A lot.”

He smiles, looking like maybe he’s relaxing a bit, if the softening of his shoulders is any indication.

He plates the scramble for us, and we sit at the island together, eating and drinking coffee, even though it’s almost noon. Looking at the clock on my microwave reminds me that I’m supposed to work a shift at Caliber tonight.

My stomach turns, making me put my fork down.

“Is it okay?” Seb asks. “I mean, I can make something else if—”

“It’s good.” I tug the sleeves of his hoodie down over my hands and pull my knees into my chest, perched on the tall stool next to the island. “I just . . . started thinking that I’m supposed to work tonight.”

His dark eyes narrow, going concerned again, and he puts his fork down. “You told me last night that you don’t want to go back there.”

I don’t remember saying that—it must be lost in the fear and exhaustion of last night—but hearing him say it makes me feel somewhat relieved.

“I don’t,” I whisper. “At least . . . not right now.”

Maybe not ever. I don’t know.

All I know is that the thought of putting on my makeup and heels and walking onto the main stage makes me feel like I’m going to be sick. But . . . is that even fair of me? Am I just being weak? I reach up to touch one of my cheeks, and it still aches from the grip James had on it. In my mouth, I trail my tongue along the skin that split against my teeth. I didn’t even notice it last night.

Apart from that, though, he didn’t actually hurt me. It could’ve been so much worse.

But I still don’t want to go. I don’t want to go tonight, or tomorrow, or the day after that. And the idea of Seb going home, flying back to Cali and leaving me here, makes a burst of panic go through me.

“Hey, talk to me,” Seb says. He scoots his stool closer to mine, so he can put a hand on my knee. His skin is warm and calloused. “Your face just changed.”