Sebastian moves forward, and I follow a half-step behind, suddenly self-conscious of my wrinkled clothes and puffy eyes.
"I aim to please," he answers, climbing the porch steps to embrace the older man. "Dad."
I watch as his father, using his free hand, pulls his son into a fierce hug. The easy affection between them sends a physical pang through my chest, a knife-twist of grief as I remember my own father's hugs. The way his arms could make any problem seem smaller, any hurt more bearable.
My throat tightens, tears threatening again when I thought I had none left to shed.
"You look tired, son," Sebastian’s father says. His eyes flick to me, curious but not unkind. "And you've brought company."
Sebastian steps back, turning to me with his hand extended. I take it, letting him draw me up the steps beside him.
"Dad, Ruthie, this is Dr. Mia Phillips." His voice carries a note of pride that catches me off guard. "She works with me at Sierra Mercy." His fingers tighten around mine. "Mia, this is my father, Bradford Walker, and Ruthie Bennett, who's been putting up with us Walkers longer than anyone should have to."
Before I can say a word, Ruthie steps forward and pulls me into a warm hug that knocks the breath from my lungs. "Any friend of Sebastian's is welcome here," she says against my hair.
The unexpected kindness nearly breaks me. I stiffen for a moment, then melt into the embrace, letting this stranger hold me when it feels like the entire world has fallen away beneath my feet.
When she releases me, Bradford extends a hand. He seems to sense my fragility, offering a firm handshake and a nod of acknowledgment instead of the bear hug he gave his son.
Ruthie pulls out a set of keys and presses them into Sebastian's palm. "Cabin five is ready just as you asked."
Sebastian takes the keys. "Thank you, Ruthie."
"There's food in the fridge," she continues, her eyes darting between us with a knowing look that might have embarrassed me if I had any emotional energy left. "And fresh linens on the bed. Fireplace is all set, just needs lighting."
"You didn't have to do all that," Sebastian says.
Bradford waves away his son's words. "Ruthie's been buzzing around like a bee since you called from the road." He gives me a conspiratorial look. "Can't help herself. Mothering is in her blood."
"And don't you forget it," Ruthie says, swatting at his arm. She turns back to us, her expression softening. "You both look dead on your feet. Go on now. Get some rest. We'll have plenty of time to catch up in the morning."
With that, she loops her arm through Bradford's and guides him back toward the house, giving us the space I didn't realize I desperately needed until this moment.
Sebastian's hand finds the small of my back, a gentle pressure that grounds me as the door closes behind the older couple.
"That's my family," he says simply.
I lean into his touch, too exhausted to do anything else. "They're nice."
"They're nosy," he corrects, but there's no heat in it. "But yes. They're nice." He jingles the keys in his palm. "Come on, Trouble. Let's get you settled in."
His hand remains steady on the small of my back as we walk away from the main house, following a dirt path barely visible in the darkness. Small solar lights appear at intervals like fireflies,just enough illumination to keep us from stumbling. The night has grown cooler, or maybe it's just the emotional toll of the day leaving me chilled from the inside out.
"Dad offered us rooms in the farmhouse," he says, his voice low against the cricket symphony surrounding us. "But I thought you might want some space. Away from questions and... people."
The consideration is almost too much. "Thank you."
With a nod, his fingers press slightly firmer against my back, guiding me around a bend in the path where the trees open to reveal a collection of cabins scattered among the pines like something from a postcard. Unlike the old farmhouse, these structures look newer, their log exteriors gleaming slightly in the moonlight.
We pass several cabins, all dark and silent, before Sebastian steers us toward the one furthest from the others. It sits nestled among a stand of pines, partially hidden from view.
"Here we are." He steps forward, keys jingling in his hand as he unlocks the door. "Cabin five. Best view of the sunrise, according to Ruthie."
The door swings open, and he reaches inside to flip a switch before he steps aside to let me enter first.
I step over the threshold, my exhausted brain struggling to process the rustic beauty of the space. It's a single large room with a stone fireplace dominating one wall and a kitchenette tucked into the corner. A door off to the side presumably leads to a bedroom. Everything is wood and stone and natural textiles—a world away from my plant-filled apartment or Sebastian's sleek, minimalist condo.
"This is..." I trail off, not sure how to articulate what I'm feeling.
