He felt something open up inside him, the kind of swooping pit that the first plunge of a roller coaster makes inside of a person. His muscles tightened in anticipation. “What makes you think these are for my house?”

“Oh.” She looked stumped for a second before stepping forward and slicking one of those perfect little hands of hers over the finished top. “Well, I guess it was just a feeling. But also because they remind me of the two-sided dining table that you said you’re keeping for you and Matty. I guess they seem like a set.”

He turned, eyed the table in the far corner of the workshop. He traced his palm over his stubble. He hadn’t consciously done that, but now that she mentioned it, she was dead right. He’d gone and made a set. Except...

“I made the coffee table and the side tables for you.”

She took a step back from him. And then another. Her eyes widened. “No.”

“Yes. All the way down to the copper embellishments. I know you like shiny things.”

“Seb.” She turned a complete circle, like she was lost, like she was looking desperately for answers in any corner of his workshop. “I can’t accept this.”

“They’re your belated birthday present. And of course you can.”

“Sebastian, people pay thousands of dollars for these, I can’t—”

“You’re not people, Via. You’re Via. You’re Violetta. Miss DeRosa.”

He was closing the distance between them and she was stock-still, her hands in her hair in the most harried gesture he’d ever seen her make.

“They’re so beautiful. They need a real home, Seb. Not my crappy apartment on Eighty-sixth.”

“You have a nice apartment. And it feels like a home. A little lonely, maybe. But these will help with that. And me and Matty and Crabby will be over all the time and that will help, too.”

“What did you say?”

“Which part?”

“Lonely.”

Her expression cracked and to Seb’s horror, she went from amazed at the gift to utterly broken all in the span of one word.

“Via.” She was in his arms and shaking.

“I am. I’m lonely. I’m so lonely. My aura is blue. Fin told me. It’s blue for lonely.” Her arms were between them. She was hugging herself and Seb was hugging her. He wished she’d put those arms around him.

“Via.”

“Seb, I was lonely even when I was with Evan. I can’t—oh God. I can’t do this. I can’t bring this into your lovely happy house where you sing Prince with your son and your happy-ass dog. And I can’t accept the gift.”

She was jogging toward the garage door, lifting it, and like a shot she was across the yard.

Seb went after her, locking the workshop up, because this was Brooklyn after all, and then he was through the house to her.

“Stop! Via. Wait.” He tossed himself in front of the front door, his arms outstretched. “Please wait.”

She had two stubborn streams of tears on her cheeks, and they damn near broke Seb’s heart as they caught the light in his dim hallway.