But I can't let him retreat, can't let him think his feelings are one-sided. I cup his jaw, the day-old stubble there rough against my fingers.
"Do you think I'd be here if I wasn't falling for you too?" The words come out steadier than I feel, but they're true. So true they scare me.
"I don't know what happens next," I admit. "I don't know if I can go back to the hospital, if I can be the doctor I thought Iwas. But I do know that when everything fell apart, when I was drowning in grief and guilt, you were there. You didn't try to fix me or tell me I was overreacting. You just... held me together."
My fingers trace the line of his jaw, feeling the tension there gradually release. "And maybe that's what together means. Not that we'll never break, but that we won't have to pick up the pieces alone."
Sebastian's big hands frame my face. "I'm not good at this," he confesses, his voice rough. "At letting people in. At being... vulnerable."
"I've noticed," I say with a small smile.
"But I want to try. With you."
Water drips from my hair onto his chest as I lean forward to press my forehead against his. "Then we'll try together."
His lips find mine in a kiss that's so achingly sweet and filled with promise and possibilities of what’s to come.
When we finally separate, both breathing harder than before, Sebastian tucks a strand of wet hair behind my ear. "The water's getting cold," he murmurs.
"I don't care," I whisper, sliding my arms around his neck, pulling myself closer to him in the cooling bath. Because right now, in this moment, the only warmth I need is his.
Chapter 36
Sebastian
The water grows colder around us, but I can't bring myself to move. Mia's body pressed against me, her eyes holding mine with an openness that steals my breath. This is everything I never knew I needed. Years of keeping everyone at a careful distance, and here I am, cracked wide open by this woman who stormed into my life like a force of nature.
And she's falling for me too. The knowledge settles in my chest, warm and steady, making me feel lighter than I have in years.
"We should probably get out before we turn into prunes," I finally say, brushing my thumb across her cheek to catch a stray droplet of water.
She nods and nibbles her lip. "Probably."
Neither of us moves for another long moment. Then I press a quick kiss to her forehead and step out of the tub. Grabbing a towel from the rack, I wrap it around my waist before grabbing another for Mia. She watches me, those green eyes following my movements with an appreciation that makes heat spread through my veins despite our recent activities.
"Come here," I say, holding the towel open for her.
She stands and steps into my arms. I wrap the towel around her, using the corners to gently dry her shoulders, her back, taking my time as if this simple act is something precious. Because it is.
"I need to get our bags from the car," I tell her, tucking a wet strand of hair behind her ear. "You good?"
"Better than good," she answers, her smile small but real.
After pulling on yesterday’s jeans and shirt, I head outside. The ranch spreads out before me, bathed in early morning light that turns everything golden. Dew sparkles on the grass between the cabins. A pair of horses graze in the distant paddock. Birds call to each other from the trees, their voices creating a morning symphony I'd forgotten existed in the years I've spent surrounded by car horns and ambulance sirens.
It's beautiful. It's home. And for the first time in years, that thought doesn't come with a sting of regret or failure.
The trunk of my car opens with a soft click, and I grab our hastily packed bags. Mia's is lighter than mine, her things thrown together in the fog of grief and shock. I sling both over my shoulder and head back to the cabin.
When I step back inside, Mia is standing by the bedroom door in nothing but a towel, her hair wrapped in another. She's looking out the window, sunlight painting her profile in gold, highlighting the delicate curve of her nose, and the fullness of her lips.
"Enjoying the view?" I ask, setting our bags on the couch.
She turns. "It's so peaceful here."
"Wait until you meet the chickens. Peaceful goes out the window around feeding time."
Her laugh is quiet, but it does something to my insides, unravels knots I didn't know were there.
