Happily Letter After(42)

“Thank you,” I said.

I sat down on one end of the sofa. Then he proceeded to sit all the way at the other end at the farthest spot away from me.

I took a sip of my drink and said, “So, what were your plans tonight if I hadn’t weaseled my way into your evening?”

His lips twitched. “I hadn’t quite figured it out.”

“It’s probably rare that Birdie’s not home.”

“Yeah. I think she’s only had one other sleepover before this.”

Sebastian looked exceptionally good tonight. He was dressed more casually than normal. A navy T-shirt clung to his broad chest. He wore jeans, and his feet were bare. He had large, beautiful feet—if a man’s feet could even be considered beautiful. Well, he and his feet were totally beautiful in every way.

“Did I step in something?” he asked.

Shit. He’d caught me.

“Oh, no. I was just . . . admiring your feet.”

I cringed. Maybe I shouldn’t have admitted that.

“Thank you.” He wrinkled his forehead. “I think?” Sebastian rested his arm on the back of the sofa and continued to stay in his corner of the couch. “So where exactly do you go to work out, Sadie?”

“I do a forty-five-minute yoga class a few times a week. It’s near my place.”

“Nice. I probably should be taking up something like that for stress relief.”

“It’s excellent for stress relief . . . but I do it for flexibility.”

He cleared his throat. “So you’re . . . flexible?”

“Very.” I’d been intentionally self-assured in my answer on that one. “Today she had us practice this pose where your legs go back over your head.”

He looked like he almost wanted to spit out his wine. “That sounds very . . . adventurous. What’s that called . . . downward dog? Dogs are your thing.” He winked.

I chuckled. “No. Downward dog is a front-facing exercise. She had us bend our legs back and over our head. It’s called plow pose.”

His eyes widened. “You’re bending your legs over your head and it’s called plow pose?”

The irony in that terminology only now just hit me.

He has a dirty mind. I love it.

“I guess it’s a waste of a skill, considering nothing has been happening in that arena.”

Sebastian said nothing as he downed the last of his wine. Then he lifted the bottle. “More wine?”

“I’ll have a refill, yeah. Thanks.”

“This bottle is empty. Want to try something else, or shall I open another bottle of cab?”

“I really liked that one. What’s it called?”

He went to check the label, and I could’ve sworn I saw his face turn red. Apparently he hadn’t realized the name until now.

He wouldn’t say.

“Well?” I prodded.

“It’s called . . . Pornfelder.” He laughed awkwardly as he opened the bottle and refilled our glasses.

I couldn’t help but laugh myself. “What a name.”

“Sounds like someone made it up. Sort of like flunkerbsht.”

My face felt numb from embarrassment. “Ah, yes.”

He raised his glass. “You should trademark that, by the way.”

He drank some more of his wine, and when the glass left his mouth, I noticed his eyes travel down to my navel and back up again. I loved noticing him looking at me. He immediately started a new topic of conversation to divert from the fact that I’d caught him staring at my belly ring.

“So you never told me how you got into writing.”

I repositioned myself in my seat, making myself a bit more comfortable. “Well, I was a journalism major in college, but for many years, I never did anything with my degree, just worked odd jobs. At one point, I took an internship with the company that owns my magazine, and the reporter I worked under let me dabble in writing some of the articles. Eventually, I was hired as a general staff writer, and I’ve bounced around various departments ever since. The Holiday Wishes column has stuck with me for years, but my main writing assignments have changed a few times. I did articles on business etiquette for a few years and then switched to writing the Beauty Basics column. Writing about makeup got boring pretty fast.”

“But you’ve been doing the dating column for a while, right?”

“Yeah.” I smiled. “For a few years. That one stuck. They seem to think I’m the right fit for it, and it’s become pretty popular.”

“Well, I can see why. Women must love to live vicariously through a beautiful, successful woman living in the city. It’s like that show my mother used to watch . . . the one with the girl from Hocus Pocus.”

That made me crack up. “Sarah Jessica Parker, yeah. Sex and the City. Although I’m more like the poor girl’s Carrie Bradshaw.”

He seemed to be almost looking through me when he said, “You blow all those chicks out of the water.”

My entire body filled with heat. He’d just complimented me, and I had no clue how to handle it. I basically just wanted to jump him—but didn’t think that would go off too well.

“Do you see yourself staying at that job?” he asked.

“As much as I might complain, I really do enjoy it. Couldn’t really imagine myself with a typical nine-to-five.”