Sunnyside (a Sebastian Stan story)

Questions and Crown Royal

    Thursday was uneventful, thank goodness. Friday I was due back at Sebastian’s, but not until the afternoon, and it would be a fast in and out. He was pretty tidy, and the only reason he had me come twice a week at all was because of his dog. To be honest, he probably could have kept up with “fur patrol” on his own, but I didn’t question it. I needed the income.

   He came home just as I was finishing, and smiled when he saw me. “Glad I got home before you left," He threw his gym bag to the floor and knelt down to scratch the dog behind the ears. “I was thinking about dinner.”

   “What, like, you want me to cook? I’ll have to charge you,” I stuck my tongue out at him.

   “Put that thing away unless you intend to use it,” he joked. I died a little, thinking about that. “But no, what I meant was, you and me, having dinner. Together. Why don’t you stay? Feel like hanging out for a while?”

   This took me by surprise. “Well, uh,” I pulled out my to-do list. It was a habit of mine. It made me feel in control.

   “Winnie, is ‘relax and socialize’ ever on that list? Come on, please?” He was hard to say no to. Besides that, I kept thinking about what Bonnie had said, and what better opportunity to find out how he fared with "unprofessional Winnie"?

   "You know what? Yeah. I'll stick around for a while," I said. "What's for dinner?"

   He opened his mouth, but no words came out for a moment. "Wow. I thought for sure you'd turn me down. I uh, haven't exactly figured out the meal yet. I can cook?"

   "That's a question?" I teased. "You don't have to cook for me, Sebastian, we can order something."

   An hour later we were arguing good-naturedly over what movie to watch. “Really? I had you pegged as more of a comedy girl.”

   “Sci-fi all the way, baby.”

   “I could get used to that,” he said.

   “Used to what? A girl who likes scifi? There are lots of us.”

   “Yeah, sure. Sci-fi,” Sebastian eyed me for a moment before putting the disc in and throwing himself onto the couch next to me, legs spread wide. I was intensely aware of the mere centimeters between us. The heat of his body radiated against my arm and my thigh, and I fought the urge to move closer. He opened the pizza box and suddenly I was too hungry to think about how nice it would feel to make physical contact with him. We chatted as the movie played. I told him about moving across the country and starting my business.

   “Not because I wanted to be a 'cleaning lady', but because it was a skill I possessed and there was money to be made.”

   He told me about the constant soundtrack of piano music in his childhood. “I thought there was nobody on Earth who could play more beautifully than my mother.”

   “So how bad was the culture shock when you moved to the States?” I asked.

   He laughed a bit. “I’m a little sad my early childhood didn’t include Underoos, but I think people have the impression that Romania is still in the Dark Ages.”

   “It’s not?” I pretended to be surprised.

   “I was twelve when we came here. I was still pretty adaptable at that age. But the accent stuck around a while and high school, well, that's never easy.How about you? What were you doing in high school?”

   “Mostly trying to convince people my sister and I were not the same person. We’re twins and I was struggling desperately for some individuality.”