Crumbling Cakes

Part XV

A/N: woowie this was a long one. I wanted to dedicate this chapter to a good friend I was lucky enough to meet on wattpad.  MissDumbE1  this ones for you.

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Minutes turned into hours, hours turned into days. And through this time Sebastian and I had found some comfortable footing on this new ledge we found ourselves on. Let me repeat that. Since getting down to my skivvies and accepting a jacket, he was all sunshine and rainbows.

Okay, so maybe it wasn't the skivvies part—a complete oversimplification of the events, I'll admit—but possibly the fact that I stopped running away every time he appeared in a room. Whatever it is, he and I were getting along. Shocking me some more, Sebastian was as chipper as an 8-year-old at the county fair. He still spoke very little, parsing out words like each syllable cost him a minute of his life, but now there was a hint of a smile behind every word he did share. As for the others?

Well, I think it's safe to say everyone else is a wee bit on edge. To put it mildly, Sebastian's good mood may be freaking some of the staff out. Add in his comments to myself, and eyes were in severe danger of popping out of sockets. I was insulted for about a millisecond when I accepted that this behavior was beyond foreign to our flock of sheep. It was foreign to me as well.

At least I thought so at first. Upon closer inspection, I realized that I've seen a tad bit deeper to our Boss than any of the others have. Maybe Sebastian didn't come off as tyrannical all of the time in the past, but he was definitely very serious. He hadn't joked much and smiled even less. Head tilt of minor approval, remember? Ronaldo was a man of very few words.

Which is why when he said something nice to me just moments ago, Ola's hand spasmed and squirted some of the frosting in her piping bag, clear across the countertop. Seeing as I was helping pull cupcakes out of the pan and onto a cooling rack, naturally, I was in the clear trajectory path of this rogue frost attack. If this was a professional sport, viewers would be impressed.

I managed to maintain eye contact with our fearless leader and ignore the bright green blob that had found new residence on my apron. Sebastian, in turn, pressed his lips tightly shut. Had the last few weeks not happened, I'd have missed that this face was Sebastian trying not to laugh. I refused to look further into my ability to read even the most hidden expressions and changes. But there it was. Held back laughter. From the man that used to stare at everyone deadpan and solely expressed emotions via his shades of red face chart.

What could have possibly been said to make Ola's hand spasm? Ahem, it was the following.

"Lia, well done on reorganizing the pantry. You were right, it's far more efficient."

Now, these are not words to faint over ladies and gents. I mean that was all he said. Nothing more. It's not like he called me brilliant; only approved my little act of fixing our inventory room—not to toot my own horn but I managed to destroy zero products in this endeavor. A small step for Dalia-kind, thank you very much. 

Like I said, nothing special. But let me reiterate. HE. NEVER. COMPLIMENTS. ANYONE. Chin dip of approval, right?

So imagine everyone's surprise when not only does he hand out a compliment, it's to the person he kept single-handedly ripping a new one a mere week ago. The world stopped spinning, the moon transformed to cheddar, the sun blew up, and I pulled a genuine compliment from the Red Stone Wall. The others were shocked and mildly impressed. I wish I was exaggerating but expressions varied across the land.

Pedro smiled in awe.

Jude's eyes got wider than saucers.

We all know how Ola reacted.