Chapter 803 The Breakfast He Made

• Only then did Annabeth notice his rolled-up sleeves and the faint dusting of flour clinging to his wrist like snow on bronze skin. No wonder he'd vanished at dawn.
• They reached the small linen-draped table. Suddenly, she stopped short.
• When Sebastian turned, puzzled, her palm was already on his forehead, the movement so seamless it looked as though he had purposely leaned into her touch—timed to perfection.