An answer.
A beginning.
“There.” His voice was lower now. “Gone.”
And yet, he didn’t move away immediately. Not even when she met his eyes.
She should look away. That would be the polite thing. The wise thing. But she didn’t want to. His face was so close—closer than it ought to be, and she was perfectly aware of it. She could count every thick, dark lash framing those eyes. She could smell the faintest trace of spice and nutmeg from the drink, and something else. Something deeply him.
It wasn’t the fire making her warm anymore.
“I suppose I ought to thank you,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
Sebastian smiled—but slowly, like he didn’t want to give it all at once.
“Any time, Maddie.”
The way he said her name—it curled around her like velvet.
She reached again for her drink, needing to do something with her hands before they betrayed her. Her fingers trembled slightly as she lifted the cup to her lips and took another sip,hoping he wouldn’t notice.
He did.
But instead of teasing her, Sebastian leaned back slightly on the stool, one elbow resting carelessly on his knee, the corner of his mouth curving into that smile she was beginning to recognize as rare. Private.
Just for her.
“You know,” he said after a moment, voice low, “you’re the only one who hasn’t asked me for the recipe and then immediately tried to improve upon it.”
Maddie blinked, surprised. “That’s because I know better than to improve something already perfect.”
The words had slipped out, warm with sincerity before she could temper them. But the quiet that followed made it clear what he’d heard… and what she’d just implied.
His expression barely shifted, yet something in his gaze deepened, heat gathering like embers in a grate. He looked at her as if she’d just revealed a secret he very much wanted to keep for himself. And now that he’d seen it, he wasn’t about to look away.
Her pulse tripped. She dropped her gaze first, studying the swirl of froth in her cup as if it were suddenly fascinating. She wasn’t ready. Not entirely.
But she was perilously close.
The fire beside them popped, sending a warm rush of air over her cheek. Neither of them spoke, but the silence had weight—not awkward, not empty. It felt like something was settling between them, unseen yet undeniable.
She lifted the cup and let the creamy warmth slide over her tongue, the faint spice of nutmeg lingering. A sigh escaped before she could catch it. “This is very good,” she murmured, softer than she’d intended. “Far better than milk and honey.”
He didn’t answer at once. When he did, his tone lowered, threaded with something deliberate.
“I like the winter now, too,” he said.
Her head came up, startled by the intimacy in such a simple statement.
His eyes caught hers, steady and unhurried, and in them she saw the same thing she felt: an awareness neither had named, but both acknowledged. It was the kind of moment that made a woman feel… chosen.
And Maddie, her heart trembling like a leaf on a still branch, felt the most dangerous thing of all…
She was choosing him back.
She didn’t speak it aloud. She didn’t need to. In the glow of the hearth, with the scent of nutmeg in the air and the warmth of the cup cradled between her palms, she met Sebastian’s gaze and knew—
Something had shifted.
