Chapter 5
CHAPTER
FIVE
SEBASTIAN
This is a mistake. Not inviting Caroline here—that part I'd do again without hesitation. The mistake is believing I could spend an evening under the same roof as her and remain unaffected. I should have known better. I live alone for a reason.
People complicate things. Beautiful women complicate them even more. Beautiful women who smile at me like they've known me forever? Catastrophic.
I busy myself in the kitchen while she showers. Anything to keep my hands occupied. I rinse two wine glasses. Then rinse them again. I rearrange the cutting boards for absolutely no reason. Open the refrigerator. Close it. Open it again. I've officially run out of meaningless chores.
The sound of the bathroom door opening echoes softly down the hallway. Don't look. My brain offers excellent advice. Unfortunately, I don't listen. I glance up. And completely forget what I was doing.
Caroline walks into the living room wearing one of my T-shirts.
Just one of my old charcoal-gray T-shirts that hangs almost to the middle of her thighs.
I'd offered it because I couldn't exactly ask her to sleep in a wedding dress.
At the time, it seemed like a practical solution.
Now I'm realizing I may be an idiot. The shirt is far too big for her.
The sleeves reach almost to her elbows. The neckline slips slightly toward one shoulder.
Her damp hair falls in loose waves around her face.
Her cheeks are pink from the hot shower.
And her legs... Good Lord.
I immediately look at the ceiling. The ceiling is very interesting. Solid craftsmanship. Excellent beams. Supportive.
Caroline's voice interrupts my inspection of the architecture. "You okay?"
"Yep."
"You look... confused."
"I'm thinking about wood."
The second the words leave my mouth, I know I've made a mistake.
She blinks.
"The cabin," I clarify quickly. "The wood cabin."
She grins. "I assumed."
"I definitely wasn't talking about anything else."
"I definitely wasn't thinking you were."
I clear my throat. "Good."
Silence. Then she starts laughing. Not loudly. Just enough to tell me she knows exactly how flustered I am. Wonderful. She's enjoying this.
"I've never seen you nervous before," she says.
"I'm not nervous."
"No?"
"No."
She tilts her head. "You're currently holding the wine bottle upside down."
I glance down. She's right. I sigh. "Details."
She laughs again. It's becoming my favorite sound.
I finally manage to pour two glasses without embarrassing myself further.
As I hand one to her, our fingers brush.
Just for a second. A tiny spark shoots straight up my arm.
I'm a grown man. I shouldn't react like this because someone's fingertips touched mine. And yet... Here we are.
"Thank you," she says.
"You're welcome."
She takes a small sip. Her eyes close briefly. "Mmm."
"Good?"
"Very."
"I'm glad."
She smiles over the rim of her glass.
"I don't think I've ever borrowed a stranger's clothes before."
"I don't think I've ever had a runaway bride wearing my clothes before."
"First time for everything."
"I hope this particular first remains unique."
She laughs. "I'll try not to make it a habit."
I lean against the kitchen counter. Or at least I attempt to. The problem is that every few seconds my eyes betray me. They drift toward her.
Toward the oversized shirt. Toward the way it sways gently around her legs as she walks.
I immediately drag my attention somewhere safer.
The bookshelf. The coffee table. Literally anywhere else.
This is absurd. She's vulnerable. Heartbroken.
A guest in my home. The last thing she needs is me staring at her.
So I force myself to behave like an adult.
Which turns out to be surprisingly difficult.
She catches me looking once. Our eyes meet. She smiles. Not teasing. Just... warm. Like she's genuinely happy to be here. The expression does something strange to my chest.
I look away first. "I have an idea."
She sets her wineglass on the island. "Oh?"
"We should go for a walk."
Her eyebrows lift. "A walk?"
"There's a trail behind the cabin."
"At night?"
"I have flashlights. And you can borrow a pair of boots.”
She studies me for a second. Then smiles. "I'd like that."
Relief washes over me. Fresh air. Cool mountain air. Because this cabin suddenly feels much too warm.
She takes another sip of wine. "So..."
I grab two flashlights from the drawer by the door. "So?"
I hand her a flashlight. Our fingers brush again. This time we both notice. Neither of us says anything. The silence stretches just a little too long.
Then I open the front door. Cold mountain air rushes inside. Thank God. Exactly what I need. Because if a simple oversized T-shirt is enough to leave me fighting for self-control... A walk through the cool night is no longer just a nice idea. It's self-preservation.
Caroline walks beside me with my flashlight in one hand and a glass of wine in the other. She's wearing a pair of thick hiking socks I'd found in a drawer. The socks bunch around her ankles. They're ridiculous. She keeps looking down at them and laughing.
"I look like a toddler who raided her dad's closet."
"You do."
She gasps.
"I thought you were going to tell me I looked elegant."
"I don't lie."
She bumps my shoulder with hers. "You could've lied just once."
"I've had enough dishonesty for one lifetime." The words come out before I realize what I've said.
She glances sideways at me.
Neither of us speaks for a few moments. Our flashlights sweep across the narrow trail. Moonlight filters through the towering pines, turning everything silver.
Finally she breaks the silence. "Can I ask you something?"
"You just did." She sighs dramatically.
"You know what I mean."
"I do."
Her voice grows quieter. "Earlier... in the bar..."
"When I said I'd never get married again?"
She nods. "If you don't want to answer, you don't have to."
I look ahead. The trail curves gently around a cluster of old pines. For years I've avoided talking about this. Mostly because there was never anyone worth telling. Until now.
"I was married."
She waits. Doesn't interrupt. Doesn't rush me.
"I was younger than I should've been."
"Aren't most people?"
I smile faintly. "Probably."
The memory isn't as sharp as it used to be. Time has sanded away the worst of it. Only the lessons remain.
"She wasn't a good person."
Caroline stays quiet.
"At least... not to me."
I take a slow breath. "Nothing I did was ever enough."
The words feel strange after all these years.
"If dinner wasn't perfect, she'd criticize it. If I worked too much, I was selfish. If I worked too little, I wasn't ambitious. I could never win."
The wind stirs through the trees. I continue walking.
"She liked reminding me I wasn't good enough."
Caroline's face tightens. "I hate that."
"So did I." I let out a quiet laugh. "I just didn't realize it at the time. Eventually… I found out she'd been sleeping with my best friend."
Caroline stops walking. "What?"
I nod once. "My best friend."
"I'm so sorry."
"So was he."
She blinks. "He apologized?"
"No." I shrug. "He was sorry he got caught."
She shakes her head. "People can be awful."
"They can."
We start walking again.
"The divorce wasn't difficult after that. I signed the papers. Sold the house. Bought this land. And disappeared. I’ve been up here a little more than 20 years now.”
She looks around at the towering trees. "For more than twenty years?"
I nod.
"I've heard through the grapevine that she's been married quite a few more times since me."
“Quite a few?"
"I stopped counting."
She snorts softly. "Ironic."
"What is?"
"The woman who made you swear off marriage can't seem to stay out of one."
I chuckle. "I suppose."
The trail opens into a small overlook. The entire valley stretches beneath us. Shotgun Peak glows softly in the distance. Tiny lights scattered across the darkness.
Caroline steps beside me. "It's beautiful."
"It is."
"I understand why you stayed."
I lean against the wooden fence overlooking the valley. "My life got... simpler."
She looks at me.
"No yelling. No pretending. No wondering whether I'd say the wrong thing. Just mornings with coffee on the porch. Snow in the winter. Fresh air. The occasional bear."
She raises an eyebrow. "The bear sounds less relaxing."
"They mostly mind their own business."
"I'll remember that."
I smile. "The mountain asks very little of me. And somehow it gives me everything. I look out across the trees. I've been happier here than I ever was anywhere else."
We stand in comfortable silence. Then I feel it.
Her hand. Tentative. Gentle. Slipping into mine.
I look down. Our fingers fit together so naturally that it doesn't even feel like something new.
It feels... Right. Like we'd been holding hands for years and somehow forgotten.
I slowly lace my fingers with hers. She doesn't pull away. Neither do I.
Warmth spreads through my chest with startling speed. The kind that has absolutely nothing to do with the wine. Her hand is smaller than mine. Soft. And her touch destroys every ounce of composure I have left.
Because suddenly all I can think about is her.
The way she laughed in the bar. The way she smiled at my cabin.
The way she looked standing in my T-shirt in the cabin.
It takes every ounce of restraint I possess not to act on the impulse that crashes over me.
To scoop her into my arms. Carry her all the way back to the cabin. Because I want her close.
I tighten my grip on her hand just enough for her to know I'm there. For more than twenty years, this mountain has been enough. Tonight... everything is changing. And I feel completely out of control.
“Caroline—I…” I start.