❄ Camille ❄
The zipper on my bag sounded too loud in the quiet cabin. The fire still crackled in the other room. It should have felt cozy. Instead, it felt like a trap I had walked into willingly. I didn’t bother folding anything. I shoved my jeans and sweaters into the duffel with clumsy, angry hands. My throat still burned from holding it together outside. I had cried on that porch like a fool, then wiped my face and told myself I could handle it.
I couldn’t.
Not when he had kissed me like it mattered, then sat me down like I was a problem to solve.
“Camille?” Sebastian’s voice carried from the kitchen. “It’s ready,” I kept packing. His footsteps stopped in the doorway. I glanced over my shoulder to see him standing there with two mugs, steam rising between us. Hot chocolate. Comfor
