Chapter Twenty-Two
Maddie watched as Sebastian crouched near a low shelf, his broad shoulders blocking her view of whatever treasure he was after.
The lodge was warm now, the fire casting shadows that danced along the rugged beams of the ceiling.
She watched him curiously as he pulled out a wooden crate, his fingers brushing away cobwebs and dust with care.
The motion sent a faint, earthy scent into the air that mingled with the crackle of burning logs.
“What are you doing?” she asked, unable to keep the smile from her voice.
He didn’t answer immediately, instead blowing a gentle breath across the top of the crate, sending a fine puff of dust swirling in the firelight.
“Finding the right way to end our evening,” he said at last, glancing back at her, his lips curved into a boyish grin that made her pulse do a ridiculous little stutter.
“And hopefully begin our courtship.” His eyes met hers. “Officially, if I may.”
Maddie felt that familiar heat rising and sat up straight.
Her curiosity deepened as he lifted the lid and reached inside with deliberate care.
After a moment, he stood and turned to face her, holding a dark green bottle in one hand and a well-loved corkscrew in the other.
“This,” he announced softly, tilting the bottle toward her, “is from my parents’ wedding. We have only four bottles left.”
Maddie’s breath caught, her teasing smile faltering. The firelight played off the glass, illuminating the deep red liquid inside and the faded label on the front. “Sebastian,” she said, her voice lower now, more tentative. “You can’t mean to open it.”
He arched a brow at her, his expression equal parts amusement and resolve. “Why not?”
“It’s too precious!” she protested, standing and closing the small distance between them. She searched his face, hoping to find even a flicker of hesitation. Instead, what she found was warmth, unwavering and entirely directed at her.
“Nothing is too precious for you,” he said simply, the words so soft yet so sure that they stole the air from her lungs. “And this leaves three, one for the christenings of each child?” Maddie snorted at that but caught him smiling.
Again, she didn’t know if he was jesting or not.
Hopefully not.
He turned toward the cabinet, retrieving two delicately etched glasses. “These have Thomas’s grandfather’s initials.” The lodge might have been rustic, but clearly, sentiment had nestled itself in every corner.
Before she could argue further, he inserted the corkscrew into the bottle with practiced ease, drawing it out with a gentle pop. He tilted his head slightly, like a silent toast to the room’s quiet history, then poured a measure of the deep, ruby-colored wine into one of the glasses.
“Here,” he said, extending the glass toward her. “Try it.”
Maddie hesitated, her hands clasped tightly in front of her.
She shouldn’t, she told herself. Not with something that carried so much meaning.
But the way he was looking at her—with that quiet mix of hope and intensity, as though sharing this moment with her mattered more than the wine itself—left her powerless to refuse.
Slowly, she took the glass, the stem cool against her fingers.
Sebastian filled his own glass, then paused.
He held the wine up to the firelight, swirling it gently until the rich liquid caught the flickering ruby glow.
“Just… let it breathe a little,” he murmured, his voice slightly hushed, as if they were standing in a cathedral rather than a quiet lodge.
When he tilted the glass to his nose and inhaled, his eyes fluttered shut for the briefest of moments.
“This is the same wine my father poured for my mother the day they were married. If I can share it with you, Maddie…” He opened his eyes, and there was something raw and unguarded in his gaze.
“It means a small piece of them can be here with us today.”
Her chest tightened, that maddening ache that always came when he veered from his playful flirtations to something honest and unvarnished. She raised her glass to her lips, unsure whether she could trust her voice to form coherent words.
“I know what it means that we’re here alone tonight. And I want you to know that I am not taking it easy. Nor will I do anything you don’t wish.”
Understood.
She nodded more with gratitude than she dared.
The first sip was warmth and richness, tangy on her tongue yet smooth as it settled. Hints of dark berries and something faintly floral lingered after she swallowed, and the sensation was so vivid, so unexpectedly intimate, that she couldn’t help but glance up at him.
“Well?” he asked, his lips curving into the gentlest of smiles.
“It’s…” She paused, her eyes flicking to the glass in her hand as she struggled for words. “It’s extraordinary.”
Sebastian’s smile deepened, and he lifted his glass. “Cheers.”
Maddie tilted her own glass toward his but narrowed her gaze playfully. “Cheers to the disaster or the scandal?”
He paused mid-motion, his brow knitting slightly, though his grin never fully disappeared. “Neither. Cheers to us and what we make of it.”
Maddie didn’t sip right away. She simply stared at the man before her, the man who had just handed her a piece of his past as though it were no burden at all. A bottle of wine from his parents’ wedding. One of four. One of four, and he chose tonight. Chose her.
Her fingers tightened slightly around the stem of the glass. Her heart gave a quiet, dizzy lurch, not because of romance or scandal or the impropriety of the moment, but because something inside her recognized the intention behind it. It wasn’t grand. It wasn’t flashy. It was real.
Real was infinitely more terrifying.
She’d been courted before. Flirted with. Admired. But those attentions had always come with caveats. With expectations. With the unspoken understanding that she was being weighed and measured—her dowry, her connections, her usefulness as a wife.
But this?
This was something altogether different. Sebastian hadn’t asked anything of her. He’d simply given. Offered. Without condition.
And that was what made her chest ache the most.
Because it meant something.
Because he meant something.
She let out a slow breath, watching as he turned away, casual and composed, as though he hadn’t just made her heart pound. He didn’t press her, didn’t chase her gaze, didn’t try to dazzle her with compliments or clever quips. He simply was.
Solid. Present.
He had a way of making the world shrink until it was just the two of them in a snowbound lodge with too much heat between them and not enough distance to cool it.
And Maddie, for once, didn’t want distance.
She wanted to savor this, this man who listened, who remembered, who didn’t treat her like a passing fancy but like a partner.
She raised her glass, barely a breath behind him, and whispered so low only the fire might’ve heard her: “To what we make of it.”
He smiled and turned and strode to the fireplace.
The quiet confidence of his movements drew her in, the set of his shoulders and the way his profile softened in the firelight. She watched as he crouched, picked up a few logs from the basket, and laid them carefully among the glowing coals, the air filling with the faintest hiss of sap.
“You didn’t answer,” she said, stepping closer, her glass still in hand.
He spoke without turning, his voice low and rich as the wine itself. “Some moments don’t need answers.”
The words held weight, as if something unspoken lingered just beneath them, but Maddie wasn’t ready to press. Instead, she sank back into her chair, her legs folding beneath her as the fire’s warmth enveloped her.
Sebastian, who had straightened to stoke the fire, turned just enough to catch her in that unguarded moment.
He paused, the poker still in his hands, his expression unreadable in the half-light.
But Maddie saw the way his gaze softened as it passed over her, lingering on her hair that caught the glow of the fire, the curve of her shoulders relaxed in the chair.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. And in the stillness, in the way the flames crackled and the wine glistened in their glasses, Maddie realized that sometimes, words weren’t needed at all. What was needed was closeness.
*
Sebastian leaned back in his chair, one ankle resting casually atop the opposite knee, as the flickering firelight painted warm shadows across his sharp features.
Maddie sat opposite him, perched on the edge of her seat as though the world itself hinged on their conversation.
Her nervous energy amused him, though he dared not admit it aloud.
Instead, he offered her one of his impossibly charming smiles and said with a teasing lilt, “I don’t remember agreeing to a courtship. ”
“You didn’t disagree, either,” she countered, and her eyes narrowed slightly, though he noticed the faint pink creeping up her cheeks.
“Do you do this often?” she asked, her voice carrying just enough accusation to make him chuckle.
“Courting?” he replied, and his lips pulled into a grin that was far too confident for someone under such scrutiny. “No. Why do you keep asking me these questions?”
“Because I just… can’t explain it,” Maddie said, her hands fluttering briefly before settling in her lap.
His brows lifted, intrigue sharpening his expression. He leaned forward slightly, studying her. “Explain what, exactly? That I like you? Why is that so impossible to comprehend?”
“It’s not… impossible,” she said, hesitating. “It’s just that it’s supposed to be difficult. Complicated. That’s why they write books about it.”
Sebastian tilted his head, genuinely entertained now. “Books?”
“Yes,” she said, a little defensively. “I have one. Well, ahem… I share it. I don’t actually own it. We all do.”
“By we all,” he said slowly, his grin widening, “are you referring to the Bible?”