Escape from Mr. Whitman (Emma and Theodore) novel Chapter 432

Sebastian quickly caught her. "Sit down, sit down. I've got it." he said.

He helped her to the sofa. She waved a hand dismissively. "I'm fine, really, I'm perfectly fine…"

"Okay, okay, you're fine. I'll go clean up," he said, humoring her.

But by the time he had loaded the dishwasher and come back out, she had already fallen asleep on the sofa.

Worried she'd be uncomfortable, he gently called her name. "Emma, Emma? Let's get you to bed, okay?"

She didn't stir.

He sighed, then carefully scooped her into his arms and carried her to the bedroom.

She was truly drunk. Her cheeks were flushed a deep crimson.

As he leaned over to lay her down on the bed, her warm breath ghosted against his ear, and his entire body tensed.

He stared at her flushed face and her lips, which looked as if they'd been stained with rose petals. He didn't want to move. He wanted to lean in closer, just a little closer, until his lips met hers. Just a light touch, that was all.

But he couldn't.

It would be a desecration of her trust.

With his reason returning, he quickly fled the bedroom.

He made it all the way to the front door before stopping. What if she woke up feeling sick and needed someone?

He turned back.

Hesitating for a moment, he found himself filled with a restless energy from the alcohol that had nowhere to go. So… he decided to clean.

And so, on that winter night, while Emma slept soundly in her room, an over-energized Sebastian cleaned her entire house from top to bottom, not missing a single corner, until he was utterly exhausted. He collapsed on the living room sofa, his energy depleted, and instantly fell asleep.

The next morning, Emma woke up and found Sebastian asleep in her living room. When his eyes fluttered open, they met hers, and he immediately panicked.

And hadn't she just said she was going to make breakfast? How did he end up in the kitchen again?

Feeling a little guilty, she followed him in. "You made dinner last night. Breakfast is simple, let me handle it."

"Nope!" he said, turning to her with a grin. "I love the kitchen as much as I love to dance."

Emma smiled. "Is that an apt comparison? I thought dancing was your life."

"It is! And so is the kitchen," he said. "Cooking in the kitchen for the person you love most is just as important, isn't it?"

The words were out before he could stop them. He froze.

*Oh no, I said the quiet part out loud. Is she going to be mad?* he thought.

He quickly backpedaled. "Th-that's something my dad always says! It's his favorite motto!"