Seducing Mr. Grumpy

1. Seeing him again.

Summer Cooper's message vault to Dominic Pauls:

Nic,

it’s been over a month since I left home. It's been harder than I thought—lonely, cold, a little bleak. I miss Mom’s hugs, Dad’s scolding… and I miss you. I wonder if you miss me, maybe just a little? Still, I’m not coming back. This is what I want, and I’m not turning around. Because at night, under the stars and watching the moon, the feeling hits me—I’m doing the right thing.

Sincerely, nostalgic but proud…

Summer.

---

TWO MONTHS AGO.

1. Seeing Him Again.

Summer.

It’s strange how life works sometimes.

One moment I’m at the peak of my life, reaching for the independence I’ve always wanted, discovering the places I’ve always dreamed of setting foot in, flying like the butterfly I’ve wanted to be since I was a child… and the next, the universe throws me the most unexpected curveball, knocking down everything I thought I had figured out.

And here I am now—no home, scared of my own shadow, rearranging my priorities because the thought of living alone terrifies me.

With shaky nerves and a hollow emptiness I don’t want to get used to, I call Heaven and tell her I’ve arrived.

"I'm almost at the building," she says, traffic noise in the background, then hangs up, leaving me with nothing more to say.

I stare at the phone in my hands, put it away, and glance up at the building in front of me. It’s tall, luxurious, and the entrance is guarded. On paper, it’s perfect. Close to the academy, centrally located, one of the best places to live in London.

Still, it feels strange to be surrounded again by so much noise and chaos. I usually choose quieter spots for my work or stay in small hotels that offer peace and silence for my videos. Being back in the heart of London feels new, and yet somehow… familiar.

"Summer!"

The shout of my name turns me around. The chilly London air bites at my cheeks, and my long brown hair whips out from under my wool hat.

Heaven waves her arm enthusiastically as she walks toward me.

I smile. I can’t help it. She’s my childhood, my family, my home. And I’ve been away so long, I forgot how warm just one of her smiles can be.

I laugh as Heaven throws her arms around me, her camera swinging between us but not stopping her from hugging me tight.

"How long has it been?"

"Four… maybe five years," I whisper.

"I can’t believe it," she steps back, eyes twinkling. "Aaron must’ve lost his mind."

"He’s fine." I shrug, dodging the topic of Dad—for now.

She notices my hesitation and quickly moves on, gesturing for me to follow.

"I already told management you’ll be staying with me, so the security guards shouldn’t give you any trouble. Here—" she hands me an access card. "You can come and go whenever you want."

I take the plastic card, silently following her into the elevator.

"I really appreciate this."

"Don’t even mention it," she says, pressing the button for the 47th floor—one of the top ones. "The apartment’s usually empty anyway, so it’s no big deal. When do your classes start?"

"In two days."

"That’s soon," she notes, eyeing the single suitcase I carry. "You travel light."

I shrug again, not offering more.

She studies me, as if trying to read my thoughts, but I look away before she sees too much.

"Summer…"

The elevator’s arrival cuts her off. I’m grateful.

We walk out in silence. Her usual energy might have rubbed off on me before, but now nothing seems to spark joy in me. And I hate it—I hate that he took away the happiness I once carried so easily. I hate that he still holds power over me, even though he’ll never be able to touch me again.

One step into the apartment and a warm, earthy, masculine scent fills my lungs. It’s familiar—faintly—but I can’t quite place it.

"Do you live alone?" I ask, glancing around. The place seems way too big for just her, but then again, the Pauls have never lacked money. It’s not surprising Heaven lives somewhere like this.

She doesn’t answer right away. Instead, she lets out a nervous little laugh and gestures for me to follow.

"This is the kitchen. It barely gets used, so you’ll basically be the first. It’s all yours." She smiles, expecting me to get excited.

And surprisingly—I do.

I step into the spacious kitchen, running my hand along the quartz countertop, the electric stove, the state-of-the-art oven practically calling out to me.

"Think it’s good enough for you, Muffin Girl?"

"Muffin Girl," I whisper. "Haven’t heard that in forever."

"You’ve been away too long, Summer."

"It feels like a lifetime."

"So… welcome back."

I turn to look at her and smile. Her words stir something in me. These past few days I’ve been so lost, without direction. Her words mean more than she probably realizes.

"Thank you."

She nods. There’s a flicker of concern in her eyes, but before she can ask anything, my phone buzzes.

Dad.

I run my thumb along the edge of the screen, hesitating.

"The terrace is that way," Heaven points, "if you want some privacy."

With a quiet thank you, I head out, barely taking in my surroundings as I answer the call.

"Where are you, Summer?" Dad’s voice booms through the line.

"I already told you, Dad."

"There are culinary schools here, too."

"Dad…"

"I just don’t get it, Summer. What are you doing?"

"London’s close enough. We lived here for years. Why are you so surprised I chose this place?"

"After what happened…"

"I don’t want to talk about it," I say, my voice rising slightly. I glance back—Heaven’s not nearby.

"I mean it, Summer. You’re only twenty-three. You can still come home. There’s no shame in that."

"It’s not that," I assure him—because it’s not.

"Then come. Your mother and I will always welcome you with open arms."

"Dad…" I look up, blinking away tears.

"What that bastard did to you—"

"Is not up for discussion," I cut in. "Look, it was a risk I took when I chose this path. And it’s not like he physically hurt me."

At least… not physically.

"Sweetheart—"

"I’m staying with Heaven. I just… need time away from the internet, from everything. I need to reset, to feel in control again. But I’m okay, Dad. I promise. I just… need space."

Being with them would only make me feel fragile. I know they’d watch my every move, scared—maybe even more than I am. As hard as it is to say, they’re not what I need right now.

"I love you, my beautiful butterfly. You know that?"

I press my lips together, holding back a sob.

"I love you more," I whisper, holding myself together.

"Your mother wants to talk to you."

"Please, no," I plead, not ready to cry. "I’ll call her later, once I’m settled. Okay?"

"Summer—"

"Tell her I love her."

And I hang up, clutching the phone to my chest, trying to hold myself together when inside, I’m a mess… maybe I always have been.

I wipe away the tear that escapes and a kaleidoscope of childhood memories flood my mind. I was probably blessed with the best parents anyone could have. They supported every decision I made, even the ones they didn’t understand.

When I chose not to go to university and instead pursued content creation—specifically dessert tasting and traveling the world to discover new food—my parents weren’t sold on the idea. But they supported me anyway.

They knew how much I valued my independence, how much I needed to make my own choices. So when those very choices led to the most traumatic event of my life, I felt as if the ground had been ripped out from under my feet.

Right now, I doubt everything—every decision, every path. I’m completely lost.

And I don’t want to drag them down with me.

I need to find myself again.

I need to feel proud of my choices again, confident in what I do.

And only I can do that.

No one else.

"Summer?"

A soft knock on the terrace door pulls me back. I turn and find Heaven.

"Yeah?"

"I have to go back to work—something came up. But I left your bedroom door open so you know which one it is. Feel free to use the kitchen. The whole place is yours. I’ll try not to be long."

"It’s fine, really," I reassure her. "Don’t worry about me."

She studies me for a second, uncertain. I smile, convincing her I’m okay. Finally, she lets out a small laugh and leaves.

I spend the rest of the afternoon unpacking, take a shower, and settle in. I open my laptop and start jotting down content ideas. Maybe I’m not ready to record again just yet… but I trust that’ll change.

Maybe soon I’ll stop being afraid and go back to being the cheerful Summer I once was.

When I run out of things to do, I head into the kitchen, thrilled by the perfect space.

I swear, I’ve never seen a kitchen this perfect.

Feeling a spark of excitement, I start opening drawers, cabinets, the fridge—getting familiar with the space where I’ll spend most of my time. The pantry is practically empty, so I make a short grocery list and order ingredients online.

Heaven wasn’t kidding—the place is barely lived in, and the kitchen proves it.

Once the flour and other ingredients arrive, I get to work.

Muffin Girl. I remember the nickname Heaven used.

As a child, during family gatherings when both our families and closest friends came together, I always brought little muffins I made with Mom’s help.

I laugh as I stir the batter.

I was a wild little thing, just like Heaven, and while she was busy causing trouble to annoy her twin brother Dominic… I was busy looking for any excuse to be near him.

I was so in love with that beautiful boy—I always gave him the best, most perfect muffin.

Of course, we grew up and I realized my crush was one-sided. That was okay—I never built fantasies around it.

I just loved being near him.

It was the most pure and beautiful feeling I’ve ever had.

My childhood love, the one who made my heart flutter with joy and fill my stomach with butterflies.

I laugh again, remembering.

No matter how stoic or cold Dom was with me, he still shone like the sun in my eyes. Looking back, I can admit I was a bit silly—but I was happy, and my feelings never hurt anyone. They just filled me with sparkling joy.

I reach for the flour to put it away—

And a deep, growling voice thunders, "What the hell are you doing here?"

I jump, flinging the container. Flour explodes everywhere, falling like a white cloud over the entire kitchen… and over him.

Standing right in front of me, with a scowl and the look of a man who’s just walked into a disaster, is Dominic Pauls.

And he does not look happy to see me again.