14 - Two Assumptions, One Problem

Sebastian moved through the kitchen in a quiet rhythm, the kind that came from days spent slipping into a routine he hadn’t expected to grow fond of.

The smell of onions and thyme clung to his sweatshirt, but beneath it, a trace of lavender and something sweeter—richer—began to rise from his skin.

His heat was close. He could feel it: the low buzz under his skin, the ache blooming at the base of his spine, the subtle pull in his lower abdomen.

He stirred the soup slowly, willing himself to focus on the bubbling broth instead of the warmth spreading behind his navel.

He’d doubled his suppressants this morning. He had to.

In the living room, the twins argued over superhero rankings. Mia had vanished into her room, music thumping faintly through the ceiling like a second heartbeat.

Ezra was out in the barn again—fixing something, always fixing something. Sebastian didn’t have to see him to know it. He could smell him.

The air in the house shifted when Ezra was near. Sandalwood and spice. It made Sebastian's stomach flutter every time, especially now, when his body was beginning to betray him—when everything smelled stronger, sharper. Him.

Sebastian wiped his hands on a tea towel just as the doorbell rang.

Mrs. Finch stood on the porch in a windbreaker zipped to her chin, cheeks flushed from the wind. “Too many cookies again,” she said, holding up a tin with a yellow ribbon. “Lemon and rosemary. You said they reminded you of home.”

“You remembered,” Sebastian said softly, managing a smile.

“Oh, sweetheart.” She breezed past him, warm and nosy. “Hard to forget anything about you.”

She didn’t wait for permission. She never did. In the kitchen, Ezra had just come in from the yard. He crouched by the cabinet, tightening a hinge, his jeans dusty with sawdust, sweat glistening at the hollow of his throat.

His scent hit Sebastian like a tide. Strong. Male.

Alpha.

Sebastian swallowed hard and turned to the kettle before anyone could see the flush crawling up his neck.

Mrs. Finch paused in the doorway, taking in the soup, the mess of toys, the lived-in calm of a house full of children. “My, my,” she said. “You boys look cozy. Glad you’re making it work.”

Ezra’s laugh came too fast, too tight. “We’re not making anything work, Mrs. Finch. Seb’s just helping with the kids. That’s all.”

Sebastian didn’t look up, but he felt the words like a slap. His fingers clenched around the edge of the counter.

Mrs. Finch’s smile faltered for a breath, then returned, brittle. “Of course, dear. Just looked like a proper family is all. The little ones are lucky.”

Sebastian didn’t reply. He busied himself with the tea—measuring, stirring. The scent of rosemary curled through the kitchen, too sharp against the rising musk of his own changing body. He’d need another suppressant before bed.

When the door shut behind Mrs. Finch, the house sank into silence. Ezra hovered by the cabinet, not touching his tools again.

Sebastian slipped into the laundry room and folded shirts in silence, every movement aching with restraint. He could still feel Ezra’s scent lingering in the fabric, in the room, in his lungs.

Dinner was awkward.

The twins were loud with their spaghetti, red sauce everywhere. Mia excused herself early, her expression unreadable.

Sebastian sat across from Ezra, chewing slowly, barely speaking. Every breath he took made his insides coil tighter. Ezra's scent was everywhere. Unbothered. Oblivious. Or maybe not.

Ezra tried to joke about Camden’s sauce mustache. It fell flat.

After dinner, they stood at the sink, steam curling around them. Ezra washed. Sebastian dried, cloth slow in his hands.

“You okay?” Ezra asked without looking.

Sebastian kept his eyes down. “You don’t have to explain me to everyone.”

Ezra tensed beside him. “I wasn’t—”

“You were.” His voice was soft, but the heat under his skin made it burn. “It’s fine. I get it.”

Ezra said nothing. But his scent shifted—spiked slightly. Irritation? Shame?

The next day, they drove into town. Sebastian sat in the passenger seat, listing groceries on his phone. His body ached. He felt too hot in his skin.

The air conditioning made him shiver and sweat all at once. Ezra’s scent clung to the truck, and Sebastian had to crack a window or lose his mind.

The twins bounced in the backseat, oblivious.

At the store, the lights were too bright. The disinfectant stung his nose. Sebastian blinked through it, lips parted, tongue pressed to the roof of his mouth. His suppressants were still holding—but barely.

The cereal aisle was chaos.

“Blue box!” Camden cried. “It has a car!”

“The red one’s healthier,” Sebastian said, crouching. The effort made his hips twinge. “Less sugar.”

He looked up at Ezra, a slight, unguarded smile tugging at his lips. “Back me up here?”

Ezra opened his mouth, but didn’t get a word out.

A woman in a vest turned from the next aisle, beaming. “Your boys are adorable. You two make such a sweet couple.”

Ezra froze.

Sebastian felt the air shift before the words even came.

“We’re not a couple,” Ezra snapped. Sharp. Final.

The woman’s smile faltered. “Oh—I just assumed—”

“Well, don’t,” Ezra said coldly. “He’s not—It’s not like that.”

The blow landed clean. Sebastian stood slowly, cereal box limp in his hand. Ezra looked at him—blank, distant. A warning.

Sebastian swallowed his reaction. Not here. Not with the twins. “Let’s go look at granola bars,” he murmured to them.

The rest of the trip was quiet. Ezra pushed the cart like it had wronged him. Sebastian trailed behind, ignoring the burn behind his eyes and the ache in his lower back.

The ride home was silent. The twins chattered happily. Ezra stared ahead, hands clenched on the wheel. Sebastian stared out the window, biting his tongue to keep from breathing too deeply.

At home, Ezra muttered something about unloading and disappeared into the barn like he needed to escape his own house. His scent lingered in the air.

Sebastian carried the groceries in with the boys, who were still giddy about cereal toys.

He didn’t even taste dinner that night. He was too aware of everything—how the house smelled like Ezra, how close his heat was, how the twins' laughter filled every silence Ezra had left behind.

Caleb held up a prize from the cereal box. “Daddy says this one can fly underwater!”

“Not Daddy,” Camden corrected. “Dad’s Ezra. That’s Daddy.” He pointed at Sebastian.

Sebastian froze, spoon hovering midair.

Ezra dropped his fork. His scent flared—shock, confusion, something deeper.

Even Mia, halfway up the stairs, turned back with a smirk. “Honestly? Took them long enough.”

Sebastian flushed hot. Ezra didn’t say a word. He just sat there, jaw tight, shoulders locked, staring at his plate like it had betrayed him.

The twins giggled and carried on, untouched by the tension winding like a rope between the two men.

Ezra stood abruptly. “I’ll be in my room.”

The door slammed behind him. The final punctuation to a sentence neither of them had dared to say aloud.