Chapter 25
Madison
When Blair texted me that Olive was already in pajamas at her place and busy helping Greyson build a fort out of couch cushions, I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
Relief washed through me; my daughter was safe, happy, wrapped up in the kind of cozy chaos she loved.
But underneath that, panic stirred. A night without Olive meant a night alone with my thoughts.
And lately, those had been anything but kind.
I lingered in the guesthouse, folding laundry that didn’t need folding, wiping down the counter until it gleamed. Finally, with nothing left to fuss over, I slipped on sandals and stepped out into the dusky evening.
The path to the main house felt longer than it should have. I told myself I was only going over to thank Seth for letting Olive stay, maybe grab the insurance paperwork he’d been working on. But the second I opened the door, my resolve wavered.
The smell hit me first. Garlic. Rosemary. Something savory and warm that made my stomach twist in both hunger and confusion.
In the kitchen, Seth stood at the stove, a skillet sizzling under his hand.
His sleeves were shoved up, his forearms dusted with flour, a dishtowel tossed carelessly over one shoulder.
He looked so unlike the man who barked orders at work sites that I froze in the doorway, uncertain what to make of it.
“What… what is this?” I asked finally.
He glanced over, meeting my eyes with that steady look of his, like he wasn’t fazed at all by my shock. “Dinner.”
“For me?”
“For both of us.” He flipped a piece of chicken, the aroma deepening, filling the space between us. “Blair’s got Olive for the night. Thought you could use a break.”
I crossed my arms over my chest, more out of self-defense than anything. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“I know.” He didn’t look away from the skillet. “I wanted to.”
The simple honesty of it caught me off guard. No edge, no teasing, no gruff sarcasm. Just a quiet truth.
I sat down at the island because my legs didn’t know what else to do. My eyes wandered over the table he’d set, two plates, silverware lined up neatly, a bottle of wine uncorked and breathing. It was thoughtful in a way that made me nervous.
He plated the food: rosemary chicken, roasted vegetables, and crusty bread that looked like it had actually been baked today, and slid a dish in front of me. “Hope you’re hungry.”
I stared down at the plate, then back up at him. “Seth, why are you doing this?”
He leaned against the counter, crossing his arms, but his gaze was steady. “Because you’ve had a hell of a week. Because you deserve a night where you’re not the one holding everything together.”
The words landed in a place I’d been guarding tightly. I picked up my fork, suddenly aware of the lump in my throat. “Thank you,” I whispered.
For a long time, we ate in silence, the kind that wasn’t uncomfortable, but heavy with something unnamed. I stole glances at him, at the way his jaw relaxed when he wasn’t frowning, at how his hands were gentler than I expected as he sliced his food.
When the plates were empty and the wine was half gone, I found myself laughing, really laughing. He was telling a story about one of his crew accidentally nailing his glove to a beam. The sound felt strange in my own ears, like it had been too long since I’d let it out.
Later, when I finally walked back to the guesthouse alone, the air was warm, the grass damp under my sandals, the glow of the little house welcoming me back. I should’ve felt lighter after such a night, but instead, my chest was tight.
Because the truth was simple. Seth Cunningham was getting under my skin. And that terrified me.
When I crawled into bed, the sheets cool against my skin, I laid awake for a long time, staring into the dark.
I thought of Olive curled up at Blair’s, safe and sound.
I thought of the insurance adjuster, the weeks ahead, the uncertainty of it all.
And most of all, I thought of Seth, his steady voice, the way he’d said I deserved a break, the small crack of softness in a man I swore was made of stone.
I couldn’t let Olive get too attached. I couldn’t let myself believe this was anything more than temporary. People didn’t stay. Not for me. Not for us.
And yet, my heart beat faster at the memory of his words, and I knew I was already in deeper than I wanted to admit.