Hazel's POV
Two days later, I sat across from Sebastian at a quiet corner table in an elegant café, nervously fiddling with my teacup. The afternoon sunlight streamed through the windows, casting a warm glow across his perfectly composed features. My cheeks burned with embarrassment as memories of our last conversation flooded my mind.
"I still can't believe I accused you of wanting to harvest my organs," I groaned, hiding behind my cup of Earl Grey.
Sebastian's lips quirked into that half-smile that made my stomach flip. "I found it rather endearing, actually."
"Endearing isn't the word I'd use." I set my cup down with a clatter. "Mortifying seems more accurate."
"We all say things we don't mean when we're not ourselves." His voice was gentle, without a trace of judgment. "Besides, I promised not to mention it again, remember?"
I peeked up at him. "And yet here we are, discussing my drunken paranoia in broad daylight."
