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Ross nods once.

“There are several bedrooms,” he says. “You’ll have your own.”

I glance toward him again.

The clarification is deliberate.

I appreciate it more than I expected to.

“Thank you,” I say.

Ross looks over briefly.

“You don’t have to thank me for that.”

“I know,” I reply. “I’m still thanking you.”

He accepts it without turning the moment into something bigger than it needs to be.

The rest of the drive passes easily. We talk about ordinary things when the conversation comes naturally, and neither of us forces it when it doesn’t. The familiarity between us is still there, but it feels different now. Less reckless. More measured.

As the roads narrow and the villages become smaller, I recognize the feeling of the countryside before I recognize anything specific. Pale stone buildings sit close to the road, old walls divide the fields, and trees crowd parts of the lane before opening again to wide stretches of green.

“I haven’t been out here in years,” I say.

Ross glances toward me.

“Then we’ll take our time.”

There is no pressure in his voice and no attempt to turn the weekend into something it hasn’t become yet.

That restraint still surprises me.

The house comes into view beyond a low stone wall and a long drive lined with mature trees. It’s built from pale stone, with tall windows, ivy climbing one side, and several chimneys rising above the roofline. It is substantial without feeling formal, and the gardens behind it disappear into open countryside.

Ross pulls to a stop near the front entrance.

I look through the windshield for another moment before turning toward him.

“It’s beautiful,” I say.

“I thought you’d like it,” Ross replies.

He gets out and retrieves my bag before I can reach for it.

Inside, the house feels warm rather than grand. The floors are old wood, the furniture comfortable, and the windows along the back look out toward the gardens and fields beyond them.

Ross leads me upstairs and stops outside one of the bedrooms before setting my bag inside.

“This is yours,” he says.

I step past him and look around. The room is bright and understated, with cream walls, an upholstered bed, and windows overlooking the back of the property.

I turn toward him.

“And yours?” I ask.

“Across the hall,” Ross replies.