Crumbling Cakes

Part XVIII

I don't know how long we sat wrapped in silence and comfort. Realistically, it was no more than five minutes. But engulfed in my own Sebastian Christmas bubble? It felt like blissful eternity.

 The sound of a distant door opening made us both jump. I pulled away quickly, sitting forward and rubbing my face with both hands. Forcing my mind to jump back into drive and away from the haze our unexpected cuddlefest had so lovingly laid upon it. The ugly world was waiting for you just outside that door, Romanov, and it's time to remember your world is anything but a picnic. No fresh garden roses here, my dear. Only the gross garbage juice on the cracked alleyway that you avoid and yet still manage to step in.

Sebastian had given me that sense of peace and reassurance I yearned for so badly the other night. On the other hand, I couldn't escape what happened no matter how soothing those hugs were. Any day now one of those shitbags could walk into the bakery while I was stuffing the case and make out exactly who I was. Something that spelled disaster to everyone involved. Yesterday meant that her men were getting bolder. Bolder or reckless. Didn't matter which really, because if they were going to be popping up, interfering with my everyday measly existence, then I would need to be on high alert all the time.

All. The. Time.

Joy. Like I really needed more shit on my paper plate.

Our silence was broken by the cozy human blanket himself. "That would be Oliver for the morning loaves." I turned in time to see him eyeball the clock. It was a measly few minutes after 5 am. My body sagged at the prospect of a long day and what no doubt would be another restless night. 

I was tired from lack of sleep and my new found paranoia that was baked into my every movement. Sebastian's man paw—there is no other way to describe its size and awesomeness, surely—ran back and forth between my shoulder blades. The movement lulling me farther into my exhaustion. "If you need some time, take it. We'll survive an hour on our own."

The corner of his mouth hitched up. Twinkling eyes acknowledging that I was at the end of my rope for the time being. Tapping my leg gently, Sebastian stood and stretched. Fascinated, my dirty pupils soaked in the sight. Not even creepy dude with pawsy hands—the wrong kind—can derail ogling Ronaldo in his stretching glory. He grasped his hands behind his back—simultaneously straightening and lifting while cracking his neck—to relieve the tension that had settled around his shoulders. "Even if it's a few minutes, Short Stack."

I nodded. "Okay." Acquiescing so easily didn't concern me. Ronaldo was perceptive. What the general population glazed over during their self-focus, even when it looked them right in the eye, he seemed to pick out. Infuriating when you're trying to fly under the radar but ever so helpful when you spent the night thinking you heard pervert goons outside of the tent that was sheltering you and three little darlings.

And there lies the truth, I could use a moment. Just one moment to lay down, close my eyes, and to clear my mind of the tumbling bricks landing all around me. Because for the first time, I had a sustainable, sturdy shelter to protect me from the onslaught of brick and stone. Or the flames of fire and brimstone licking at my heels. At the very least the queen running the fire and brimstone show. THAT's what she really should have called that place...

"Besides, word is my couch is quite cozy." He said at the door. "We'll see you out there in a bit." With that, Ronaldo walked out into the hallway after turning off the overhead light—leaving me in the glow of the lamp on the side table—and with a soft click of the door.

Slowly I lowered back against the cushions, curling up into a ball. My head was instantly swallowed by the plush throw pillow and at the same instant, all my tension dissipated like a crashing wave. The sensation reminding me of the change on Sebastian moments earlier.