Cecilia’s pov
I froze in the doorway, my brain short-circuiting for a full two seconds.
My tongue felt like it had been split in two, and I couldn’t move, couldn’t speak.
Simon Foster was standing there, clear as day, wearing my dad’s "Kiss the Chef" apron like he was auditioning for the role of ‘Charming Ex’ in a Hallmark movie.
He looked up, startled at first, then tried for a smile that didn’t quite make it all the way.
I could feel Sebastian’ s aura shift beside me, like the air had crystallized.
"Come on in," Simon said, stepping back and gesturing for everyone to enter.
His voice was warm, maybe a little too warm, like he was trying too hard to sound casual.
I avoided Sebastian’ s gaze like it might combust on contact, ushering everyone inside with a smile that felt stapled to my face.
All five of us filed in, the tension so thick it might as well have been visible.
My heart pounded against my ribs.
This was bad.
Tang placed the gifts on the side table, then sidled up to Sebastian.
"Want him gone?" he asked, deadpan, as if he were offering to remove a stain from a white carpet.
Simon’s eyes widened. "Is he talking about me?"
Sebastian waved a hand like he was brushing lint off his jacket. "Not necessary. Yet."
The casual way he said it made my stomach twist. This was unraveling faster than a Christmas sweater at a cat convention.
"Si—" I caught myself. No nicknames. Not tonight. "Mr. Foster, where are my parents?"
Simon blinked like I’d just slapped him with formality.
For half a second, something flickered across his face. Maybe surprise. Maybe hurt. He covered it quickly, but I still caught it.
Then he gave a tight smile, the kind that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
"They went to pick up your grandmother.Uncle VanDyck said they’d be back soon."
His voice was calm, but he fiddled with the hem of the apron like it was suddenly itchy.
He wouldn’t quite meet my eyes.
I felt a flicker of guilt. I hadn’t meant to sound cold.
Harper, who already knew Simon, tilted her head.
"So... are you the chef for tonight?"
Simon chuckled. "I saw VanDyck downstairs while he was grabbing some wine. He hurt his back lifting groceries, so I helped him out. Then he asked me to stay for dinner."
"Physical therapy?" Yvonne’s voice went playful. "So Mr. Foster is a doctor?"
Simon gave a modest nod. "Yes, I am."
I straightened abruptly. "I need to make a phone call."
Which was code for : I need to get the hell out of here before this turns into a reality show.
I turned and headed down the hallway, desperate for breathing room.
When Simon saw us return, he gently pulled his hand back from Yvonne and stood.
"I didn’t realize you had other guests tonight. Perhaps I should leave."
I wanted to say yes. Like, please just go. But I couldn’t.
He’d helped my dad, was already cooking dinner, and had been invited by accident.
Kicking him out would be social suicide.
My throat tightened. Everyone was watching. Even Yvonne had paused mid-peach-peeling, her eyebrows raised like she was waiting for the next plot twist.
Sebastian turned his head slightly, his gaze landing on me with leonine intensity.
I felt sweat prickling at the back of my neck.
"Um... "
"Don’t feel obligated, Cecilia," Simon said kindly. "The meat’s still simmering in the pot, and I prepped the vegetables. As for your dad’s back... "
He gave a small shrug, trying to sound casual, but his voice had a faint hopeful edge. Like he wanted to stay, but didn’t want to ask outright.
"Please stay for dinner," I blurted out, feeling Sebastian’ s gaze burn holes through the side of my face.
The words tumbled out before I could stop them, and the second they did, I regretted it.
Sebastian didn’t move, but I saw a muscle in his jaw tighten.
He looked away, just briefly, like he needed a second to recalibrate.
The moment the words left my mouth, the temperature seemed to drop five degrees.

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