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.
This was safe. I was safe. Here in this spot, no one could touch me. My knee jerk reaction would be to keep moving until I dropped. Because if I was always focusing on each task before me, I couldn't think about all of the shit that graced my doorstep. If I succumbed to those thoughts then I might as well just walk my dainty ass over to the Canary and declare defeat.
Obviously, that's not how I'm built. So processing my situation in bite-sized portions, while running myself ragged, was the coping mechanism that kept me trudging forward with my middle finger enthusiastically waiving in my mother's face.
Regardless, having a place that truly gave me the sense of security for decompressing was a gem that I'll covet like the ill-fated ring of Sauron. My debts to Sebastian seem to be growing at a rapid pace and at this rate I wasn't above tossing myself into a flaming volcano with volatile magma if that's what he asked. Isildur was not my spirit animal.
In the midst of this ridiculous film strip floating around in my head, I must have dozed off. One minute I was declaring my unwavering loyalty to Strawberry Fields and his magical couch, the next I was staring at a pair of green eyes while garlic bread tickled the good olfactory neurons deep inside my nostrils.
I'm blaming the decadent bread for my lack of reaction to waking up with someone staring at me because, in my defense, the smell was divine. Not like that alley trash soup one can't seem to avoid. Ollie held out the fragrant, mouthwatering bread--along with a glass of water.
"For you, Myshka." He nodded and patted my arm affectionately when I wrapped my fingers around his offering. It seems that I was to have a pet name with all of the men in my life. Minus the Dirtbag Clan from Chateau Canary. They don't count. Ollie was halfway to the door when I found my bearings and sat up.
"Wait." My brain, slogging off the last bits of sleepy fog, kicked into gear. Churning the word through moments of the past. I recognized the nuances of it from languages exposed to me when I was young. Some of those asswipes Bathilda catered too had some useful purpose to them. Alojzy, when he showed up, even tried to teach me his native tongue—along with ones he had to learn back in his school days.
Russian. That's what it was.
I eyed Oliver who stood patiently, waiting for what I had to say. "You're Russian?"
His chin dipped in acknowledgment. "Myshka...what does it mean?"
A smile played upon Ollie's face. "You practiced it in the past?
My head bobbed. "A little."
He hummed with appreciation. "I can hear it, in your pronunciation."
"I try. What does it mean, Oliver?" I asked. It sounded so familiar...
"It means 'Little Mouse'." He watched me process this new information. Of course! The polish word for mouse is almost identical, give or take a letter. A distant memory barged into the forefront of my mind.
***
"They get into everything. Destroy everything!" I heard her shrieking from the small sitting room on the other side of the trailer. I listened to her trusted guard dog, soothe her in good humor—hiding behind my flimsy, dirt-smudged bedroom door. The kind of door that could be easily replaced by a piece of plywood and it wouldn't make a difference. I haven't gotten a good read on this one yet. He started hanging around about a six months ago and I wasn't sure he could be trusted where I was concerned. He tried to teach me things. Words in a language that mostly sounded like water rushing over rocks in a fast river. But slowly they were making sense.
He chuckled softly. "It's only a myszka, Tildy." My face scrunched in a grimace. Tildy, that's what he called her. I suspected that they were more than just friends. I wondered if the other one knew. The one with the chilly smile and scary eyes. He wouldn't like Alojzy—that was the dog's name—sniffing around. I know they've been very careful.
"I don't care! Disgusting vermin defiling everything." My mother spat. She was very upset, which made me curl further into myself. When she was upset she liked to threaten me with things I didn't fully understand but knew were not good. My mother believed she deserved the best. A lifestyle that meant little mice had no right to sully her existence.
Luckily, he coaxed her with soft-spoken words. I knew the threatening tide was receding when she giggled girlishly.
The sound a morbid beacon of hope. It was okay for me to finally go to sleep...
***
"...and Ollie is just fine." Ollie's voice broke through the lingering ghosts of my past. "I don't mind you calling me that."
A-Ha! Finally an answer! I could kiss the gods and do a celebratory jig. I grinned despite the unsettling feeling my memories encouraged.
"Why little mouse?"
He looked at me, carefully choosing his words. "Because the little mouse is smart, cunning, and a survivor. People make the mistake of underestimating the little creatures as easy prey. Little vessels that carry disease. But there is a reason one doesn't want a wild mouse for a living companion." He paused and I waited, enraptured. "The creatures most dangerous are the ones who destroy in the shadows. In the hidden depths beyond prying eyes. A mouse can cause great damage and be gone before you realize that it was even there in the first place."
I thought about his explanation. It had merit, as philosophical as it sounded.
"Mice may be small, but their will to live is far beyond their minuscule weight. Even when cornered, with no way out, it will fight to survive." Ollie continued quietly, this was hands down the most I've ever heard him speak. It was entrancing. The cadence of his strong voice, with the odd word that would be laced with just a hint of an accent. "I'm familiar with who your mother is."
I swallowed, my frown imminent. "Oh?"
Ollie gave me a sad nod. "We all have family members that we're not fond of. There is no shame in that. But as she is inside; Myshka you remain." Sounded like a damn riddle. Forget Ollie, he was beginning to look like Socrates—a philosopher. I got his message nonetheless. At least I think the twinkle in his eye affirmed what I decoded.
I was the danger unseen. The creature Bathilda underestimates, blinded by her misconceptions. Maybe her undoing will come in the form of a little mouse, after all.
At the door, similar to the way Sebastian left, Ollie lifted a finger to my onion bread roll—warm and soft in my hand. "Eat up while it's still warm. Oh, and I put some leftover garlic butter on the inside." He winked, he waved, and as the last sounds of my excited moans bounced around the room, he closed the door and was gone.
Surprises seem to come in all shapes and sizes—or so I was learning.
***
I was putting away some of the bakery's more nefarious looking tools when Sebastian called out to me. It was nearing the end of the day and my mind was wandering to what Ollie had said. I had met sir Oliver's eye as soon as I joined the world of the living after my breakfast before going about completing my tasks. I had only been out for about an hour but between the hugs, cuddles, sinful bread, and insightful character depictions, I was like a new person. Earlier I had seen Sebastian looking around, looking for the nearest person to help. And normally Heather was right there by his side.
I turned just in time to see him waving me overùfour fingers curling into his open palm, eyebrows raised expectantly. His other hand held petals for the floating water lilies. Oh yes, he was working on a pond/lagoon cupcake tower to clear up confusion... don't ask. I certainly stopped questioning where people got their ideas. The final product usually had me shutting up and appreciating this guy's gift. And of course I get to taste test, so there's that.
And yet, even though Sebastian couldn't have made himself any more clear, I still gaped at him like he was asking me to participate in fire dancing.
"Lia, I need you," Sebastian said, all business-like. All I could think was I need you too, buddy, like you wouldn't believe. And isn't that the million-dollar request because where the hell was that coming from? Probably from the bajillion acts of kindness Ronaldo has subjected me too since I barreled through his masterpiece. Not that it had caused him much grief, apparently.
Reluctantly, I walked toward the lily lagoon, each step hesitant like a sailor down the plank. A few steps away I paused, nerves getting the best of me. I didn't trust myself to touch anything so fragile or delicate.
Sebastian had other ideas and placed a reassuring hand on my upper back, pulling me forward until I was at his side. A quick glance told me that we had no audience. Everyone else was elbows deep in kneading, mixing, or whatever task they had to get done. Thousand dollar cakes weren't going to make themselves, don't you know.
Not that they weren't making standard torts and cakes also. Just that we were backed up on custom orders is all. Look at me. Rambling about shit no one cares about all because the warmth radiating across my back from Sebastian's palm was making me all flustered. I'm blaming the bridal shop. That place has completely ruined me when it came to physical contact with Strawberry Fields.
As is my habit, I swallowed and pulled every ounce of cojones that happened to be lying about—spoiler, there wasn't all that much—to survive the next possible hour. Let me be clear here, it's not that Sebastian makes me uncomfortable. It's the fact that he makes me too comfortable; that's the problem. I don't have the great fortune to develop deep feelings for people, not with my current situation; that I've already shared. I mean, I've already determined to take my band of misfits with me all because I can't bear to leave them behind.
They can be relocated since, sadly, nothing really holds them down here besides the others. But let's say I become a little too fond of Ronaldo...I can't exactly place him in my pocket when I run away now can I. The kiddos are also people that are fairly invisible to the system and not a group that Bathilda can easily locate. Not even on her frighteningly accurate radar. Sebastian has a well-established business with an even better-established reputation in his field.
A combination that's glaringly obvious like a shiny new penny on a blacktop, not what we like to call invisible. It wouldn't take her much to put two and two together, and call me crazy, but it's been my general life rule to avoid giving Batshit-hilda ammunition as much as possible.
Also, let me be frank here, why would Ronaldo ever up and leave his life behind for scrappy, damaged me? That concern is actually best-case scenario if he could become—um—too fond of me as well. Worst case is more probable.
The likely conversation would go along the lines of, oh yea, I like you and all, care about you deeply, truly, but not..like...that. Cue in the dramatic music, followed by a melodramatic reaction that leads to a colossally awkward exit. After the painful moment has ended, I'd up and disappear faster than you could say Mele Kalikimaka. That's Merry Christmas in Hawaiian for all you non-National Lampoon's folks.
And yes, to some running away after such a confession may seem childish, imprudent even. But the reality is if unrequited love is all I have left here, and Bathilda is hot on my tail...putting on a sturdy front isn't worth her potentially demolishing everything I've touched while working for him.
Me disappearing would actually be a benefit for him, sadly. I know it may seem like I'm jumping the gun here, all because my mind couldn't disengage from typical human contact. But already once in the last day, I wanted nothing more than to get to a place I knew he would be to help me feel better. That wasn't a great precursor for how I could separate any potential romantic feelings the longer I got along with him.
Nope, I was in deep doo doo and the only way out was to focus on getting my vitals back to normal during brief touching. I'm still at ground zero on that one, but I'll be sure to let you know if I make any progress.
More hard to swallow truth, I also don't want witnesses to said attachments. And I didn't want to be responsible for yet another ruined order. My hands are a smidge bit full at the moment.
Yet here I stand after being led to a task that terrifies me. "Are you sure you need my help exactly?" I asked and searched the perimeter for a wandering eye that I could plead with to take my place. Come on you cowards! He doesn't bite! Usually... There were no valiant heroes in my immediate future, so it seemed.
"Yes. I need you to hold that petal in place while I secure it." Sebastian grabbed a pair of clear, food gloves and started to fit them over my hands. Then just as gently, he guided both of my freshly wrapped—and now sweaty—appendages around the bundle of fondant petals. Each one elaborately placed to create the bloomed bud. I could feel the heat creeping up my neck and fighting to take over my face. I was more than certain we were no longer audienceless. Oh sure, NOW you all look over.
As if this couldn't be any more abnormal behavior displayed by our fearless leader, he began manipulating my fingers to part and gently hold up the different layers of all of his hard work. Such care and thoughtfulness in simply placing these digits where they were needed. I fought the urge to twitch—the one that would most likely dismantle this confection of sugar. No pressure at all, really.
"This will make it easier to retain the shape when I pierce the center with the stamens." The hygienic gloves might be keeping my germs to myself but they were doing nothing to block the warmth from his expert dexterity.
"The whoodie what now?"
"You know, the prongs in the center that usually make the pollen." Sebastian adjusted my fingers once more since they had drifted back during my confusion. Huh, Alexa, please add Stamens to my list of random shit I need to learn about. Hah! I'm just kidding, there's only Lexicon Lia up in here. "You don't need to be so hesitant." He said just low enough for me to hear. "When you wreck something, I'll fix it. Don't you worry."
I couldn't see his face as he was bent over, ensuring that everything was in its place, but I caught the end of a smirk. I wasn't certain if anyone else could see it and if they did, I was dying to see their reactions. Only the comprehension that Sebastian was teasing me in front of his minions kept me captivated to his magical hands. I pulled my lips in to bite down and temper my smile.
"Ha-Ha," I whispered back. "Aren't you funny."
"The funniest. Now shh, I'm trying to concentrate." I snorted as delicately as possible without shifting my position, mindful that any sudden movement would cause me to crush the petals.
Carefully he inserted these stamens into the center of the lily. They appeared to be toothpicks with tips wrapped in crafted fondant. Brilliant colors of rich orange faded to the lightest specs of rust red. Earlier Sebastian concocted what he called a simple sugar syrup. Examining these stamens, I noticed he used that syrup like a glaze to make these pollen producers glisten like you would see on a lily you plucked from the pond. The level of detail on each piece was astounding and captivating. Just as captivating as his hair—twisted locks that were mere inches from tickling my nose, holiday cheer included—that tempted me to face plop right into its softness and inhale. I had some serious issues...
We didn't speak much after that, all I could do was watch him create something beautiful out of cake batter and molded sugar. It was a peaceful moment, one that felt more like a gift over what has been happening lately. I've never been a flower girl, city streets don't exactly encourage a green thumb when you're trying to survive the day. But with every floral confection request, Sebastian was winning me over to possibly start a garden with my Lil Misfits, when we were settled. That would be something I know they would love to take part in.
Ronaldo was starting to color my future in bright, hopeful colors with all that he's doing in the now. And a stumbling gal can't really complain about pockets of possible happiness to come. The day when I no longer have to worry about Bathilda is on the horizon and I'm grateful to have moments like these to look back on for inspiration.
***
"Lia, I need your hands again."
I paused mid-wipe of the table nearest to the counter. Technically cleaning the front house during bakery hours was the Trio's job. But since my goal here was to keep busy, wipe tables it was. Because I did not want to imagine what my trip home was going to be like.
I lifted the requested extremities palm out and waved my fingers. The rag forgotten on the surface. "You mean these deadly weapons of mass confection destruction?"
He sighed, in either good humor or exasperation. Methinks Ronaldo is over my fear of flailing goodies. A very foolish brush off on his part, I am after all unpredictable. Let us not forget what started this mess! "Yes, those." He rested his own hands on several boxes, the fingers curled around the edges. "Can you help me carry these down the block for that retirement party?"
"Um..." I stared at the boxes. They were simple cupcakes. Nothing fancy about them besides the swirl of the buttercream and the edible glitter dust. But the cupcakes were technically loose. The risk of one toppling into the next was pretty high and that made me nervous. Sure earlier I managed okay with the lilies—Sebastian's guidance played a giant part in that, as well as, paralyzed fear. I've also proven myself to be quite handy during my "extra credit" hours, as I like to call them. So naturally, he has all the faith in my abilities, for the most part.
"Just down the block, Short Stack." He lifted the top box and held it out to me. "You're not that deadly where this box couldn't survive the walk down the block."
"I guess." I hesitated. His sudden naiveness was alarming. Or I was way too dramatic. Deep down, I'm aware it's the latter.
"Craft store around the corner." He tilted his head in earnest. "I promise you will safely carry them there."
Bollocks. He was adorable and frankly I was overreacting. The boss needed help and I could do it. Really. Glittery cupcakes and all. "Okay. Okay. Let me just put this away." I grabbed the rag and quickly made my way around the counter and through the swinging door. Dodging some of the others quite successfully to dump my rag near the cleaning sink.
Quick as my nervous lamb legs could carry me, I returned and stood before Sebastian with my head held high and my arms outstretched. "Alright, I am ready." He placed the box gingerly in my grasp. I tried to balance it against my body and frame while maintaining the perfect even level, as best as possible. My eyes widened in panic when I saw him grab the other two and stepped toward me.
"Relax, Little Lia. These are for me." He half-turned toward the swinging door. "Heather!"
Heather's head popped out from around the door. "Yea?"
"We're taking these to Marie's Crafts. Shouldn't take long. Could you get Roman out here to finish the tables?"
"Alright, see you later."
Sebastian nodded his head to the front door. "Shall we?"
I cleared my throat. "We shall."
He took the lead and pushed the door open with his back, sliding over to hold it with the tip of his boot, thus leaving me a comfortable space to get through. I envied his dexterity. Two delicate boxes and keeping excellent balance on one leg. With grace that required a healthy dose of effort, I started in the direction of Marie's Crafts.
We walked in comfortable silence. Oddly enough, there was no urge to constantly look about for yesterday's offender. Something I credited the Great Wall of Sebastian for. I cradled my box of cupcakes gently. These may not be the elaborate lagoon ones but I really didn't want to be responsible for killing someone's retirement treats.
In no time at all our transaction with the lovely crew of Marie's Crafts began and ended. No fuss, no muss. We barely even exchanged meaningful words as they were brimming with excitement since this was a surprise party and these were Flora's favorite cupcakes. Of course, what I really meant was, they talked a mile a minute with flushed faces and shooed us out the door with a healthy tip. But they were cute ladies who rushed us sweetly out of sight so Flora wouldn't know what was happening away from their weekly crafting circle.
On our way back Sebastian had slowed down his pace. Making me both curious to the change of pace and mournful of my warm jacket still hanging in my locker. I wasn't left in suspense for very long.
"So I was thinking," He paused to take in a quick breath. Most likely to warm up, as I have alluded, it was borderline freezing out here. "if you're feeling up to it, want to pay up on that favor I asked?"
"Oh?"
"Blake called and asked about that drink for tonight. I can probably put him off for a week if you need some time." He eyed me from the corner of his eye. Ah, so he hasn't necessarily forgotten the tale of yesterday's run-in. I don't know if that's touching or worrisome. Sebastian typically has enough to deal with and I didn't want yesterday to put me on his concern list. Call me a softie but I've been worried about his stress level and the details of my life would require him to get a prescription for an ACE inhibitor.
But back to the question at hand, did I need time from my close encounter? I'm sure it would be beneficial to my overall health. Problem was I didn't really want to rush off to my unit just yet. It wasn't exactly fear that makes me want to refuse time, but dread. It would be nice to extend the safety net that Ronaldo's presence tended to offer me these days. Besides, a promise is a promise.
"Uh no. No time needed." I smiled briefly. "Just name the time and place, Boss."
"Right after we close actually and it's a bar not far from here. Fitzies, have you heard of it?" He asked as we shuffled along. I fought a shiver in some weird silent competition with the guy, one he wasn't knowingly participating in. 30 degrees out and Ronaldo is walking around in his chef jacket like it's no big deal. Meanwhile, I can't feel my toes in my ratty sneakers.
"Sure, I've been by it a time or two." By as in, walked by. Desperate Dalia and all her secrets. Sigh.
He nodded. As luck would have it we had reached the bakery's front door. Ever the gentleman, Sebastian reached for the handle to pull it open for me. "We'll leave around 8. Call it an early night."
"Sounds like a plan."
"I appreciate it, Lia. Really. I love Blake as much as one can love their closest friends, but I rather not have a repeat of last time." Sincere Sebastian, another trait that is making this no attachment policy a failing policy. And a failing policy is no policy at all.
"It's no problem at all, I owe you one." I walked passed him and into the promised land of warmness. And that warmness seemed to sandwich me in when I felt him stick close to me from behind. Glurghbh, I'm really wishing I had a do-over at that shop wrapped in his jacket.
So an evening with Sebastian & Co. That's what proper friends did, no? Even though I knew this was a simple favor, there was an odd twitch in my belly that resembled something close to nerves. "See ya later, Ronaldo." I rushed to the back, not waiting for his response.
These nerves were making me behave like a weird asshole. You know, like the kind that gets all stiff and awkward in the middle of a perfectly normal conversation? Yea that was me right at that moment. Shake it off, crazy lady! You saw him drunk and you've joked around. He gave you comfort cuddles! Pull yoself together gurl. I need to be perfectly normal and at ease if I'm going to spend the evening with the man.
Well not spend that kind of evening...although all the fantasies sure do promise a good time... Stop it! Mind out of the gutter. Right, behave normal and it'll be fine. It's necessary, after all, you're going to need to keep dodging personal questions from Blake all night—because he is sooo a nosy Nancy—and not even Ronaldo will save you because he's got questions too.
This was going to be a long night.