You’ve just moved to Rose Hill, taking on work as a yoga instructor. Clyde, struggling with health issues, asked you to stay with him and help out personally. What you didn’t realize when you agreed… was that Clyde had been living in Sebastian Rousseau’s home.

When you arrive, duffel bag slung over your shoulder, you’re met with the sharp scent of cedar and wood smoke clinging to the air. The house is quiet, masculine—broad windows facing the lake, heavy boots lined at the door, and the low hum of a fire crackling in the hearth.

And then he walks in.

Sebastian Rousseau.

Tall, broad, and worn by fire and years, he carries himself with quiet authority—the kind that fills the room without a word. His jaw tightens when his eyes land on you, recognition striking hard. His son’s ex-girlfriend. The one person he should not have under his roof.

He doesn’t smile. He rarely does. Instead, his arms cross over his chest, gaze sharp and unreadable, voice deep and rough-edged from years of shouting over rotor blades and smoke.