I nodded. “They both claim to be good with it. They’ve always loved our summer visits here, and Whit is already asking if they can have a horse. It also helps that Mack’s daughter Millie is about the same age as Whitney. They hung out a lot when we were here for the wedding, and they text all the time. Keaton seems to get along well with his daughter Felicity too—she’s kind of a science geek like he is, I guess.”
“That’s all good stuff.”
“Still . . .” I set my glass on the table. “There’s no way being deserted by their father isn’t going to cause lasting damage, and I worry it’s more than I can handle. He didn’t fight me on full custody, he didn’t fight me on this move, and I had to talk him into letting them come stay with him the second half of their winter vacation. He thought a weekend would be plenty.”
April gasped. “What a jerk! Do the kids know that?”
“No, and I hated covering for him. But what was the alternative? Let him crush my children’s feelings the way he crushed mine?”
She reached across the table and put a hand on mine. “You’re doing the right thing, even though he doesn’t deserve it. When do they go back to see him?”
“A week from today—the twenty-ninth. Then they’re back here on the fifth, the day before school starts.”
“And you’re going to stay at the house with Mom and Dad for a while?”
I nodded. “Until I find something to buy, but I probably have to wait for the Santa Barbara house to sell first. Brett practically emptied our joint accounts, so I don’t have a ton of extra cash lying around, and I’d rather die than ask him for money.”
“Mom and Dad would help you out, wouldn’t they?”
“They offered, but I don’t want to take their retirement money. They’ve earned it.” I gathered my hair over one shoulder. “No, I knew this wouldn’t be easy, but I want to do it on my own. When the California house sells, which shouldn’t take long, I’ll find something small and secluded, maybe on a little bit of land. I’d like Keaton to be able to have that horse, and maybe we could get a few other animals too. Brett never wanted pets in the house, but I think it’s important to grow up caring for animals. And I think it will be good therapy too.”
“I think you’re right, and that all sounds perfect.” She tilted her head. “But why the seclusion? Are you hiding out?”
“At least for a little while. I feel like my life has been upside down for months—I want to get through the holidays, and then all I want is a fresh start with the new year. For all of us.”
“I get it. And speaking of the holidays, all your boxes with the kids’ gifts in them arrived safe and sound. They’re all wrapped up and ready to be torn open by eager little hands.”
“Thank you.” I smiled at her, grateful again to have such a supportive family. “I was dreading this Christmas, but being home again, seeing the house with all the lights on it, and the snow on the ground, it feels nostalgic in a good way. I want to take the kids sledding and ice skating and build a snowman by the barn like we used to.”
“Yes! You have to.” April looked excited. “Remember the snowball fights we used to have? Those were epic. We need to do that again.”
I laughed. “My kids would be all in for sure. And they could use the fun. But enough about us. How’s everybody else? Dad’s health seems good.”
April nodded. “Mom and Dad are doing great. Enjoyed their cruise and are considering spending a month or so in Florida over the winter, maybe even buying a place down there. Dad’s not a hundred percent retired yet, but he works much less. He walks on the treadmill or outside every day, and he’s at Mack and Frannie’s house a lot—loves being a bonus grandfather. Mack’s girls even call him Grandpa John.”
I smiled. “That’s so cute. And Frannie’s doing well? I can’t believe she’s a stepmom of three—our baby sister! She’s not even thirty yet!”
“I know. And she’s a natural. I bet they have their own kids soon too.”
“Wow. Hard to imagine. Time flies, doesn’t it?” I shook my head. “How about Chloe? Have she and Oliver set a wedding date?” Chloe, the second youngest Sawyer sister, had gotten engaged to her childhood nemesis, Oliver, at the end of the summer.
“Possibly next summer, but they’re still arguing about it. He wants sooner, she wants more time to plan.” April laughed and shook her head. “Those two get off on bickering, I swear to God. It’s like foreplay to them.”
I squinted. “Foreplay? What’s foreplay? I vaguely recall it might have something to do with sex, but . . .”
April’s eyes closed. “Tell me about it.”
“How about Meg? She’s back home for good now?” Our middle sister had been living in DC for years but had come home for Frannie’s wedding and promptly fallen head over heels for her old friend Noah, a sheriff’s deputy in town.
“Yep. She moved back right before Thanksgiving, and she appears to be going through the motions of looking for a place to live, but she and Noah seem pretty darn cozy in his house. I’ll be surprised if she ever moves out.” She sighed. “All three of our little sisters seem happy as can be.”
I heard the wistful tone in her voice. “What about you? Are you seeing anyone? Got a hot date for New Year’s Eve?”
She shook her head. “I wish, but no. I’ve just been working a lot.”
“Even in December?”
She shrugged. “Well, Mom and Dad were gone on their cruise for three weeks, so we all had to pitch in to cover. And there have been a ton of holiday parties this month. Chloe is running ragged trying to get the distillery going while still managing the tasting room and prepping to take over for Dad full time. The Christmas Eve party is coming up Tuesday, and the New Year’s Eve dinner is the following week. January will be a little break, at least, but we’ve got some corporate events. And in February, we’ll get busy again for Valentine’s Day and Presidents’ Weekend.”
“Sounds like you should hire some help.”
“It’s on my list. I’m actually interviewing someone right after the holidays, another event planner.”
“I can help out in the meantime.”
“I might take you up on that,” April said. “Or if you want to freeze your ass off in the vineyard, you can help Henry with the pruning.”
“Oh, that’s right. Pruning starts soon.”
“Twenty thousand acres, all done by hand.” April imitated Henry’s deep voice. “It’s an art form.”
I laughed. I didn’t know Henry all that well, but I knew he was very serious about his vines. “Poor Henry. Does it bother him that you guys tease him so much?”
“Nah.” She waved a hand in the air. “He’s like the honorary Sawyer brother—he can take it. And he knows we’re kidding.”
“Dad emailed me a link to a magazine article about him a few weeks ago. Like a 40 Under 40 Tastemakers in Wine kind of thing?”
April nodded happily. “Yeah, that was really cool! I was so thrilled for him. He’s so good at what he does.” Then she sighed. “And he needs the positivity these days. He’s going through a divorce too, did I tell you that?”
“Oh no, is he?” My heart ached a little in sympathy. “I remember him saying at Frannie’s wedding that he and his wife had separated. I was hoping it would work out.”
April shook her head. “I guess she’d already left and filed for divorce by then. He sort of hid it for a while. She moved to Chicago.”
“Was there someone else?”
She lifted her shoulders. “Henry just says they just grew apart, and I haven’t wanted to pry, but I think there’s more to the story.”
“How long were they married?” I tried to picture them together, but it had been a while—maybe a Cloverleigh Christmas party years ago? I remembered her as acting sort of quiet and sullen that night, in contrast to Henry’s easygoing, friendly personality.
“I’m not exactly sure. They were married when he took the job here, which was nine years ago, so at least that long. He seems oka
y day to day, but he works a lot. His truck is always there when I leave work late at night after a wedding.”
My heart went out to Henry. Maybe he was working constantly to distract himself, or to avoid going home alone. I understood that—there was nothing worse than the silence of an empty house.
“Well, all I want to do is drink wine these days,” I said with a sigh, “but I’ll get out there in the cold and prune vines if I must. I remember Dad making us learn how to do it when we were kids, and then we’d go in and chug gallons of hot chocolate afterward. Remember how Mom used to make it from scratch on the stove top? So good.”
April laughed. “Yeah, but this time we’ll spike it.”
Smiling, I clinked my glass against hers. “Sounds like a plan.”
* * *
Just after eight, April headed home to her condo in Traverse City and I took the private corridor that led from the inn’s lobby to my parents’ house. I found my kids wrapped in blankets on the couches in the family room with my dad watching It’s a Wonderful Life. My mother, of course, was cleaning up the cookie mess in the kitchen by herself.
“Let me help you,” I said, rolling up my sleeves. I inhaled the scent of cookies baking. “Mmmm, smells delicious.”
“Thank you, darling.” My mom cradled my cheek for a moment. “But aren’t you tired?”
“A little. But please don’t tell me I look it. I’m going to lose my mind if one more person tells me I look exhausted. Or skinny. Or worried. I’m working on all of it.”
“You look just beautiful to me.” She smiled and went back to work.
We got the dishwasher loaded and running just as the first batch came out of the oven. I grabbed the bowl of dough from the fridge. “Want me to put in a second batch?”
“No, no,” she insisted, shooing me out of the kitchen. “You’ve had a long day. Go watch the movie or curl up with a book and a cup of tea somewhere.”
“Thanks.” But I didn’t really feel like watching a movie or reading a book. After a long day of sitting on planes and then stuffing my face with pizza, I felt like I needed a little exercise. “Actually, I think I might take a walk. Get some fresh air.”
“Okay, sweetheart. Dress warmly.”
“I will.” From the closet in the front hall, I grabbed my winter coat, zipping it all the way up. I tied a scarf around my neck, and tugged on a hat, my snow boots, and mittens. Then I slipped out the front door, pulling it shut behind me.
The air was bracingly cold, but I didn’t mind. I shoved my hands into my pockets and followed the snow-kissed brick path around the back of the house, past the old red barn and the stables, past the new white barn that served as a wedding reception venue, and over toward the winery and vineyard.
Right away I saw the pickup truck in the winery’s parking lot, and I assumed it was Henry’s. I hadn’t brought my phone with me, but I knew it had to be almost ten o’clock. What was he still doing here this late? I recalled what April had said and wondered if he could use a friend.
Moving a little quicker, I followed the path to the winery door. Lights were on inside, but the double doors were locked. I pressed my face to the glass and peered into the tasting room, but I didn’t see anyone, so I knocked a few times. No one answered. I knocked again, a little louder.
Five seconds later, Henry appeared, a confused expression on his face as he crossed the tasting room floor from the direction of the cellar, peering out the window. When he saw me, he hurried to the doors, unlocked them, and pushed one open. “Sylvia?”
“Hi, Henry.”
“Come on in.”
“Thanks. It’s freezing out there.” I moved inside the bright, open space, grateful for the warmth.
Henry shut the door behind me. “I’m sorry if you were waiting outside for long. I was in the cellar and it’s hard to hear from there. I wasn’t expecting anyone.” He ruffled his hair in a boyish gesture that made it messier rather than neater. It was walnut-colored and thick, with just the tiniest hint of gray at the temples. A short layer of scruff covered his jaw.
“Oh, that’s okay. It was only a minute or so.” I gestured toward the parking lot with a mittened hand. “I was out taking a walk and saw your truck. I thought I’d come in and say hi. See how things are going.”
“Things are going well, thanks.”
“Did the grapes have a good year?”
“Yeah,” he said, nodding. “I think it’s going to be a nice vintage.”
After a somewhat awkward pause, I glanced toward the cellar. “Working late, huh?”
He shrugged. “I’m kind of a night owl these days.”
“Me too.” That is, if you could call lying awake panicking about your hot mess of a life being a night owl.
“Did you just get in?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest. He wore jeans, work boots, and a thick gray henley with the sleeves pushed up, revealing muscular forearms and solid wrists. His henley had a hole on the chest, and a white undershirt peeked through.
“We got in earlier tonight. I don’t know if you heard, but the kids and I are moving here.” There was another awkward moment of silence before I added, “Brett and I split up.”
He nodded, looking a little uncomfortable. “I did hear that, from April, but I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to know or not. So I didn’t want to say anything.”
I looked at the floor and shuffled my feet before peeking up at him. “Um, is it weird if I say the same thing? That I know about your divorce too, but I’m not sure if I’m supposed to?”
“It’s fine.” Then he surprised me with a smile, his green eyes crinkling at the corners. “But clearly, if we ever have a real secret, we should not tell April.”
I smiled too. “Clearly.”
We stood there grinning at each other for a moment, and my body warmed as I suddenly found myself wondering what kind of secret the ruggedly handsome Henry DeSantis and I might have.
It awakened something small and fluttery inside me.
Four
Henry
I’d forgotten how beautiful she was.
I hadn’t spent any extended time with Sylvia, the oldest Sawyer daughter, since she’d lived in California as long as I’d worked here, but I’d met and chatted with her a dozen times over the years. She had always struck me as elegant and kind, maybe a little reserved—friendly, but not as outgoing as April, Chloe, or Frannie, whom I knew much better because they lived or worked here. So it surprised me that she’d wandered in here tonight to say hi.
The last time I’d seen her was at Mack and Frannie’s wedding. She and her husband had been seated at our table, but he was the kind of guy who liked to dominate the conversation, and all I could think of was that I finally had to explain Renee’s absence. I hadn’t told anyone yet that she’d already moved out. But I remembered thinking that Sylvia had looked sad that night—stunning, as usual, but sad.
One year, Renee had pitched a fit about my talking to Sylvia too long at the Cloverleigh Christmas party, not just because Sylvia was attractive, but she had two perfect children as well. So not only was her face superior, but her uterus was too.
“You’re being ridiculous,” I’d told Renee after she blew up at me on the ride home. “She asked me about this year’s crop because of the wet spring weather. We were talking about wine.”
“You don’t think she’s pretty?” Renee accused.
There was no good way to answer that question. “Listen. In all the years we’ve been together, I’ve never once been tempted by another woman’s face—let alone another woman’s uterus.”
It was true. I’d never been unfaithful to Renee, never even thought about it.
But standing here looking at Sylvia’s wide-set blue eyes, her cheeks pink from the cold, her long blond hair tumbling around her face from beneath her winter hat . . . I didn’t blame Renee for being jealous.
Of course I thought Sylvia was pretty—who wouldn’t?
She glanced around. “So what’s new an
d exciting? I haven’t been in here in a while.”
I wasn’t sure how to answer that, since my idea of exciting wasn’t always the same as other people’s when it came to wine. Before I could decide if hearing about our new bottling line would send her racing for the door, bored to tears, she asked another question.
“What’s in the barrels?” She moved toward the large windows overlooking the cellar, which was one level down and lined with huge steel tanks and rows of big oak barrels.
“Several things.” I walked over and stood at her side. She smelled like cookies, and my stomach growled. “Chardonnay, cabernet franc, pinot noir.”
“And in the tanks?”
“Riesling.”
“Oh, I love riesling.”
“Want to taste some?”
She faced me, her eyes lighting up. “Sure.”
“Follow me.” I led her through a door at the back of the tasting room and down the stone steps into the brightly lit cellar. From an antique cabinet over on one side, I grabbed two glasses. “So the wine is going to be a little bit cloudy because it’s not filtered yet, and it’s also freezing cold, but—”
“Oh, wow. There’s ice on the tanks.” She took off her mittens and hat, shoved them inside her coat pockets, and fluffed her hair a little.
“Yeah.” Momentarily distracted by the feminine gesture and all that golden blond hair, I paused for a second before recovering. “This is what’s called cold stabilization, where the wine is stored just above its freezing point.”
“Really? Why?” Then she grimaced. “Sorry. I’ll just warn you now, all my questions will probably sound stupid to you. I love wine, but despite growing up here, I’m pretty ignorant about the process.”
“That’s okay.” I turned the spigot on one of the tanks and filled one glass halfway, handing it to her. “I’m happy to teach you about it—you just have to let me know when I’m getting boring. I could talk forever about making wine. Renee used to—never mind.”
She put a hand on my arm. “No, tell me. Renee used to what?”
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