We talked about work. I filled him in on what was happening here, and he walked me through some coursework like it was nothing, explaining concepts in that calm, frustratingly brilliant way that made me mad at him and proud of him at the same time. I told him classes were getting harder by the day, the end of the semester creeping closer, and that I was splitting my time between morning lectures and whatever hours I could carve out at VistaReal.
He told me the crisis was stabilizing. That Elena had the team moving faster than he could have alone. That he was delegating more. Listening more. Letting go where he could.
He told me he was taking time off. Making the most of the time he had in New York—spending mornings with his dad and long lunches with Oliver. Picking up Liam and Amelia from daycare and letting them drag him through Central Park to look at the Christmas lights already going up, like he didn’t run a company worth more than most small countries.
He told me he was worried about Henry. Said he wished he would open up to him more. Said he knew he’d made that harder by not being someone Henry could lean on before.
I don’t think he realized how big that admission was.
It felt like living in some parallel reality, and I still didn’t know if I was allowed to trust it.
Falling into a routine with him was dangerously easy. All our conversations eventually slid into flirting, wanting, waiting. Sometimes more. Because how could they not? After that night together—after four years of nothing and now knowing exactly what I was missing, and not being able to touch him againbecause of the ocean between us—how were we not going to crave each other like this?
He didn’t say the words again—those three little words that haunted me. But I felt them. In the way he spoke. In the way he stayed. In the way he tried.
In the little things.
Packages started showing up at my apartment. The first had pastries from a place he’d tracked down because I’d mentioned—once—that I missed them. The next was clothes, not random but very… me. Soft. Warm. The kind I’d always said I’d buy someday. That was so Sebastian. Always had been. Except this time, it didn’t feel like performance or distraction. It felt like care.
Two weeks of that. Two weeks of his voice in my ear every night. Two weeks of wanting and waiting and trying so hard not to hope. By the day he was finally supposed to land, I was a mess of nerves and anticipation, pacing like a kid waiting for Santa. Because I didn’t know which version of Sebastian I was going to get when that plane touched down. And I didn’t know what it would do to me if it wasn’t this one.
I was lying on the couch, scrolling through my phone and waiting, when Henry showed up. It was pretty late already, closing in on 10 p.m.
“You’re just getting off work?” I asked as soon as he closed the door.
He looked worn thin—bags under his eyes, clothes rumpled. “Yeah,” he said with a nod, walking straight to the bar cart and serving himself a drink. “Things are picking up speed. You know how it is once we’re closer to the finish line.”
“Is Ari gonna come help?” I already knew the answer before he shook his head. He loved piling responsibility on himself. A Langley trait.
He slumped into the armchair with a heavy sigh. “What are you still doing up? Thought you had an early class tomorrow.”
Heat crept up my neck. “Ash is getting back today. He landed a little while ago.”
I didn’t mention he hadn’t called yet. We didn’t have plans or anything. I just… wanted to wait. Needed to know he was home and safe.
Henry’s eyebrows lifted slightly as he took a sip. “He’ll probably be tired, you know.”
I smiled to myself, knowing full well he was only trying to protect me—keep my expectations in check. It stung a little that he felt he had to.
I parted my lips, ready to tell him I was doing a fine job of that myself, when the lock in the front door turned and both our heads snapped toward it.
The door opened, and I shot upright, hands braced on the back of the couch as Sebastian walked in.
Well… fuck me.
My stomach swooped at the sight of him. “Hey,” I said, unable to keep the surprise out of my voice.
He gave me a tired smile, set his suitcase by the door, and crossed straight to me.
“Hey,” Henry said. “Did you come from the plane?”
Sebastian nodded, and when he finally stopped in front of me, he wrapped me in a tight hug. “From the plane,” he echoed in that deep rumble of his. Then, more quietly—for me—“Hi.”
My arms locked around his neck. “Hi.”
He leaned back just enough to press a soft kiss to my lips, and I melted. Completely, stupidly melted.
Then he slipped away, scrubbing a hand through his hair as he turned toward his brother. “Can I use your shower?”
