"Too rustic?" he asks, shutting the door behind us. "We can go back to the main house if—"
"No." I turn to him, managing a small smile. "It's perfect."
He studies my face for a moment, then nods, apparently satisfied with what he sees. "Let me get the fire going. It gets cold here at night."
He moves with quiet efficiency, crouching by the fireplace to arrange kindling over the logs already stacked there. I sink onto the couch, running my fingers over the handmade quilt draped across its back. The fabric is soft with age and countless washings, the pattern intricate and clearly crafted with love.
A lump forms in my throat. When was the last time I was surrounded by things made with such care? My apartment is filled with IKEA furniture and Amazon basics, assembled during rare days off between hospital shifts.
The fire catches with a soft whoosh, flames licking up around the logs. Sebastian stands, brushing his hands on his jeans.
"Hungry?" he asks.
I should be. We've barely eaten all day. But the thought of food makes my stomach twist. "Not really."
Instead of pushing, he simply nods. "How about a bath then?"
Before I can answer, he's already moving toward the door I noticed earlier, pushing it open to reveal not a bedroom, but a surprisingly spacious bathroom. From where I sit, I can see a large claw-foot tub positioned near a window.
The sound of running water fills the cabin and steam curls from the doorway. I remain on the couch, suddenly aware of how filthy I feel—not just physically, from the long drive and crying jag, but deeper, as if Cheryl's death and my spectacular breakdown have left a layer of grime on my soul that no amount of scrubbing can remove.
Sebastian reappears, rolling up his sleeves. "Bath's running. There should be some of Ruthie's herbal stuff under the sink. She makes it herself. Lavender and something else. Good for sore muscles."
I stare at him, this man who dragged me from the depths of my apartment floor, drove me across state lines, and is now running me a bath like it's the most natural thing in the world. "Why are you doing all this?"
"Because you'd do the same for me." The simple certainty in his voice steals my breath. "Because you matter, Mia. Because I—" He stops, shakes his head. "Because you shouldn't be alone right now."
I want to argue, to tell him I don't deserve this kindness, but I'm too tired to form the words. Instead, I just nod, watching as he disappears back into the bathroom. The sound of water continues, punctuated by the soft clink of bottles being opened.
When he returns, he extends his hand to me, and I take it without hesitation. His fingers are warm and steady, everything I'm not right now. He guides me to my feet, and I follow him into the bathroom.
The tub is nearly full, steam rising from the surface like morning mist. The scent of lavender fills the air, mixed with something else—chamomile, maybe, or eucalyptus. It smells like peace, like healing, like everything I desperately need but don't know how to ask for.
"I'll leave you to—" Sebastian starts, but I catch his wrist before he can retreat.
"Stay," I whisper, the word barely audible. "Please."
He searches my face, and I know he's looking for signs that I'm asking for the wrong reasons again. That I'm trying to use physical connection to escape emotional pain. But this isn't about sex or distraction. This is about not wanting to be alone with my thoughts, with the crushing weight of failure that threatens to drown me every time I close my eyes.
After a long moment, he nods. "Okay."
I turn away from him, suddenly self-conscious as I undress. With each piece I remove, I feel lighter, as if I'm shedding not just fabric but the weight of the day itself.
Sebastian's presence behind me is a steady warmth, but he doesn't move, doesn't speak. Just lets me set the pace, lets me choose what I need from him.
I step into the tub, and the hot water embraces me like a long-lost friend. A soft moan escapes my lips as I sink deeper, the heat working its way into muscles I didn't realize were clenched tight. For the first time in hours, I feel like I can breathe properly.
"Better?" Sebastian asks, his voice soft.
I nod, not trusting my voice. The water laps at my shoulders as I settle back against the tub's curved edge. Through the window beside me, I can see the dark outline of pine trees against the star-filled sky. It's beautiful and peaceful, and I hate that I can't fully appreciate it through the fog of my grief.
A soft rustle of fabric draws my attention, and when I glance over my shoulder, I see Sebastian pulling his shirt over his head. My breath catches as he reveals the lean lines of his torso, the play of muscle beneath tanned skin. He's beautiful, and the sight of him sends a flutter of something through my chest.
His jeans follow, and then his boxers, and then he's stepping into the tub behind me. The water level rises as he settles in, his long legs bracketing mine. I feel the solid warmth of his chest against my back as he gathers me against him, and something inside me finally unclenches.
"Is this okay?" he murmurs against my hair.
I lean back into him, letting his arms circle my waist. "Yes," I whisper. "This is perfect."
