The day I finally won Sebastian Hale over, my friends bet I would never thaw a block of ice.

I didn't believe them.

For two years, I brought him hot meals and stayed up through countless nights waiting for him. Not once did he tell me, “I miss you.”

Even when I dragged my suitcase toward the door, all he asked was, “Have you thought this through? Are you sure you want to break up?”

I smiled through red-rimmed eyes. “I'm sure.”

“I give up, Dr. Hale. You're free.”

Sebastian believed an amicable breakup was how two mature adults showed each other respect.

Then a car accident erased my memory of leaving him, and I clung to him, calling him my husband.

The man who had once begrudged me even the word love pulled me fiercely against his chest, his eyes reddening.

“Sophie, we're never leaving each other again.”

He had lost me and gotten me back.

This time, Sebastian Hale was the one terrified of losing what we had.

...

Three days before we broke up, Boston was hit by an unusually violent rainstorm.

I stood at the far end of the cardiac surgery corridor at Harbor General Hospital, my pale dress soaked, wet strands of hair plastered against my cheeks.

In my arms was a dark green velvet box containing a bottle of perfume.

The clear glass bore no brand name, only a few words I had written by hand:

After the Rain, Unraveled.

I had spent two sleepless nights creating it for our second anniversary.

The top notes were rain, fir, and a trace of bitter bergamot, like the cool scent that clung to his shoulders when he stepped out of the hospital into a storm.

Iris and white rose formed the heart, over a base of cedar, oud, and the faintest touch of musk.

To me, it was Sebastian.

Cool. Restrained. Impossible to forget once you got close.

The elevator doors opened a little way down the corridor.

Sebastian emerged with several other doctors.

Fresh from surgery, he carried his white coat over one arm. His shirtsleeves were rolled to his forearms, silver-rimmed glasses resting on his straight nose. Behind the lenses, his eyes looked tired, but his expression remained alert and distant.

He spotted me immediately.

His gaze dropped to my drenched hem, and his brows drew together. “It's pouring outside. You shouldn't have come.”

The happy anniversary I had rehearsed lodged in my throat.

I pressed my lips together and held out the box anyway. “It's our second anniversary. I wanted to give you your present myself.”

Sebastian didn't take it.

“I made this for you.” I nudged the box closer. “Will you smell it?”

Someone passed us, casting a brief glance our way.

His jaw tightened. At last, he accepted the velvet box.

When his fingertips brushed the cold back of my hand, he paused, then withdrew as though nothing had happened.

“Perfume doesn't belong in a hospital. Especially in cardiac surgery.”

“I know.” I looked down at the box. “That's why I kept it subtle. It won't interfere with your consultations.”

Sebastian lowered his eyes to the handwritten name.

After the Rain, Unraveled.

At three yesterday morning, I had sent him a photograph of a scent strip from my studio, asking whether he preferred fir or cedar.

He had seen the message but hadn't answered. He had been preparing for surgery.

After two seconds of silence, he closed the box.

“Don't wait for me here again. This isn't where you should be.”

He didn't sound angry, but my heart still felt heavy, as though the rain had soaked straight through it.

“You promised we'd have dinner together tonight,” I said. “Does that still stand?”

Sebastian lifted his wrist to check the time.

“There's another surgery. I don't know when I'll finish. Go home first.”

I stayed where I was, my voice beginning to tremble. “Sebastian, it's our anniversary.”

“I know.”

“Then could you hug me?” My voice softened into a plea. “I got caught in the rain. I'm cold.”

His fingers curled at his side.

A moment later, he took off his suit jacket and draped it over my shoulders.

“Go home.”

I stared at him.

His jacket still held his warmth. Yet he remained half a step away, sending me off just as he had countless times before.

“Hospitals are full of germs. You're soaked, and you'll get sick. Go.”

“Don't be difficult.”