Her face registered surprise, but she quickly recovered. “I’m sorry to hear that. But I still don’t get why it’s a reason you can’t give Henry a chance. He doesn’t want to date your eggs. He wants to date you.”
I stood up and went over to the dresser, catching my reflection in the mirror. I’d tried to disguise the evidence of my sleepless night with makeup, but I still looked pale and puffy-eyed. My hands trembled. “I just can’t handle it, Frannie. I’m not ready.”
She sighed. “Okay. I’m not going to pressure you. I’m only going to say this once, then I’ll shut up. If you’re going to push Henry away for the sake of your kids, I get it. Single parents have to do that sometimes. But if you’re using the kids as an excuse to push him away because you’re scared to let someone in—”
“I’m not doing that.” I spun around and faced her. Gulped. “Much.”
She shook her head. “Right.”
“Put yourself in my position, Frannie,” I pleaded. “If you had to walk a mile in my shoes, you wouldn’t do things any differently. You would protect your kids . . . and yourself.”
“It’s hard to argue with you when you put it like that. I just want you to be happy, Sylvia.”
“I know.” I swallowed hard. “I’m working on it.”
Rising to her feet, she came over and hugged me. Then she took my arm and tugged me toward the door. “Come on. Let’s go have some nachos and a margarita.”
* * *
The next few days passed by in a blur. The house in Santa Barbara sold for over asking price, and I made arrangements to return to California to pack it all up and ship things here within thirty days. The kids and I looked at eight different houses for sale and ended up making an offer on one—a refurbished farmhouse on two and a half acres about ten miles from Cloverleigh. I purchased an SUV, scheduled appointments for Whitney and Keaton at the therapist’s, and took them school supply shopping.
And I didn’t stop thinking about Henry for one second.
But I still hadn’t been able to face the idea of seeing him yet. I knew I was putting off a conversation I didn’t want to have. And part of me was scared that once I laid eyes on him, I wouldn’t be strong enough to give him up. My feelings for him hadn’t changed—I wanted to be with him.
On the final Saturday night of winter break, Frannie brought the girls over for one final vacation sleepover. “How are you?” she asked as she was leaving. “Lots going on, huh?”
“I can’t even tell you. My brain is fried.” I stuck a bag of popcorn in the microwave.
“I can’t wait to see the house.”
“I really do love it. Needs work, of course, but it’s perfect for us.”
“Are the kids nervous about starting school?”
“A little. But excited. We drove by both schools today. They seem okay.”
“You get them appointments with that therapist yet?”
I nodded, pulling a container of lemonade from the fridge. “Yes. Week after next. That was the soonest she could get them in.”
“Good.” She paused a moment. “Have you talked to Henry?”
Guilt tightened my stomach. “Not yet. I needed some time.”
“No pressure. I was just asking.” She zipped up her coat and pulled her keys from her pocket. “Thanks for having the girls tonight. See you tomorrow.”
That night I sat with the kids and watched a movie, but my mind wasn’t on the action onscreen. It was on Henry and how much I missed him. How badly I wished things could be different. How heartsick I was that when I saw him next, I wouldn’t get to touch him or kiss him or hear him say any of the things that always made me feel so good.
But it was for the best, I kept telling myself. My mother might have raised me to follow my heart, but right now that was a luxury I couldn’t afford.
Twenty-One
Henry
I spent the first few days of the new year in the vineyard, brooding in the cold as I hand-selected the buds to start the next season’s growth with. Normally, I loved the work—the first steps in the creative journey of the next vintage—but this year I was surly, gruff, and short-tempered. Mariela eventually stopped asking me how things were going, and the few hired hands I trusted to assist with pruning got the hint pretty fast that something was off with me this year. They took orders from me but kept to themselves, and they didn’t invite me to go for beers after work like they had in the past.
Every day I hoped Sylvia might show up or even just send me a text telling me how she was doing, but she never did. Whenever Chloe stopped by the winery, I resisted the urge to ask about her, but the questions in my head were making me crazy.
Was she okay? Were the kids okay? Did they hate me? Did she still think I was a good man? Had we ruined everything, or was there any chance for us? I thought about her constantly and missed her with pangs like hunger.
And then five days into January, on a snowy Sunday afternoon, she came to find me in the vineyard.
I saw her coming up the row, bundled up in her winter jacket, hat pulled low over her head, hands tucked into her pockets. She walked toward me slowly, but she smiled when she got close, like she couldn’t help it. “Hi.”
“Hi.” I felt like I couldn’t breathe, and I didn’t know what to do with my arms. They hung inert at my sides, shears clutched in one hand.
“Cold out here.”
“Yeah.” I scrambled for words. All I could think was, She’s so damn beautiful. “How are you?”
“I’m okay. We’ve been busy.”
“Yeah?”
She nodded. “I bought a car. Our house in California sold. And I put in an offer on a house here.”
“Really? That fast, huh?”
“It’s perfect for us, and the kids love it. It’s not really even officially on the market yet, but our agent knew it was coming on and had a feeling it would be the right one. We went to see it a few days ago and offered this morning.”
“Wow.” I adjusted my hat. “Where is it?”
“Not far from here. Outside of town on about two and a half acres. So not a ton of land to manage, but enough for a couple horses and some animals. And it already has a barn.”
“The kids must be happy.”
“They are. They are.” She looked down at her boots. The snow fell slowly and softly around us.
“What about you?” I asked. “Are you happy?”
She smiled at me, but her eyes were glossy with tears. “I’m . . . I’m hopeful about the house. I’m glad my kids are excited. And I’m looking forward to moving out of my parents’ house, as much as I love them. But no, Henry. I’m not happy. I miss you.”
“I miss you too.”
She closed her eyes a second, took a breath. “But I have to put the kids first. And right now, they’re not ready for me to be in a relationship.”
“I understand.” I stared at the ground for a moment, letting the disappointment sink in. “So Whitney was that upset, huh?”
“Yes. A lot of it is my fault. The night she asked if we were dating, I could tell she was troubled by the idea of it. I could have spoken to her about it right then, been more open with her, but instead I lied to her to avoid a difficult conversation.” She shrugged and smiled sadly, a tear slipping down one cheek. “I didn’t want to face that what I was doing was wrong, because it felt too good. I was selfish.”
“That’s not being selfish, Sylvia. And you weren’t doing anything wrong.”
It was obvious she didn’t believe me. “Anyway, seeing us dancing and kissing made all her fears real, and she was very angry with me. She told me I was just like Brett.”
“You’re not,” I said firmly. “You know you’re not.”
She shook her head, fresh tears forming. “It doesn’t matter what the truth is, Henry. Her feelings are real. And scary. And she’s . . . she’s struggling to trust people right now.”
How could it not matter what the truth was? I didn’t fully understand what she meant by that. And
there was something else . . . I wasn’t convinced Sylvia was talking only about Whitney here. She was scared too. Maybe hearing all of her daughter’s fears out loud had opened up the wound on her heart.
But I couldn’t help her heal if she wouldn’t let me.
“Tell me what to do, Sylvia. I feel terrible.”
She shook her head. “You shouldn’t. None of this was your fault. I should apologize to you—I led you to believe something more between us was possible, but . . . it isn’t, Henry. And I’m sorry.” A sob escaped her. Then another, and another. “I’m so sorry.”
I couldn’t stand it. Dropping the shears at my feet, I gathered her in my arms and held her, letting her cry on my shoulder. Feeling her body shudder with sadness was agony, but at least I didn’t feel so helpless. Comforting her gave me a purpose. “It’s okay. Shhh, it’s okay.”
“It’s not,” she wept. “I behaved terribly, coming after you like that. And I promised myself I wouldn’t embarrass myself by breaking down this way, yet here I am.”
“You didn’t behave terribly—I was a very willing participant. I won’t lie and say I’m not upset, but your kids are more important, Sylvia. If I had children, you bet your ass in a sequined skirt I’d put them first too.” I forced myself to make a joke, hoping it might make her smile.
She laughed a little, pulling back from me and wiping her eyes with her sleeve. “Thanks.”
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah. God, I’m so sick of crying. It feels like that’s all I’ve done for a year.”
“So let’s do something else,” I blurted, thinking fast. “Want me to put you to work?”
She gave me a shaky smile and sniffed. “Here? In the vineyard?”
“Sure. Or in the tasting room. Whatever you want.”
“I didn’t think you’d want me around anymore.”
“Well, you were wrong. I offered to teach you about the way we make wine, and the offer stands.” I knew it would only make it harder to shut down my feelings for her if she was around all the time, but if it cheered her up, it was worth it.
“It does? Even though we can’t—” She stopped talking and pounded one mitten into the other.
I had to laugh. “Well, I’m not going to argue with you if you ever want to take your clothes off, but yes. Even though we’re only going to be friends, I’ll still teach you what you want to know. I’m not a total asshole.”
She stood taller, her eyes and nose still red, but her grin genuine. “I’d love that, Henry. When can I start?”
“How about right now? Want to learn how to prune these vines?”
“Yes! Show me!”
“Okay, so watch and listen carefully.” Turning toward the plants, I gave her a look over my shoulder. “This is an art form, you know.”
She actually laughed. “Go on.”
“So the vines are dormant right now. The buds are alive, but they’re basically sleeping, so now is when we want to go through and choose the ones we think have the best shot.”
“Why not leave them all?” she wondered. “Wouldn’t that give you the most fruit?”
I shook my head. “The vine will be more productive if you prune it the right way than if you just leave everything. We want to concentrate the energy of the vines into the buds we select.”
“Got it.”
I forced myself to focus on teaching her the task at hand, rather than on her nearness, the scent of her hair, the adorable way she held the tip of her tongue between her teeth in concentration when she was clipping a shoot.
“Like that?” she’d ask, her brow furrowed with concern.
“Perfect. Try this one now.”
We spent almost two perfect hours working side by side that afternoon. She listened attentively, asked smart questions, and learned fast. I was in heaven—no one had ever been so interested in what I did out here. And each time she smiled or laughed, my heart would quicken in my chest.
But eventually, she said she should probably head back home to start Sunday dinner. “The kids start school tomorrow,” she told me, handing the shears back. “I want to make sure they get a good meal and a good night’s rest.”
“Of course. That’s a big day for them.” I hesitated. “I’m not sure I want to know the answer to this, but do they hate me?”
“Of course not.” She put a hand on my arm. “They both like you, Henry—that’s not the problem.”
I nodded. “Tell them I said to have a great first day.”
“I will, thanks.” She glanced around. “It’s starting to get dark. How much longer will you work?”
“I’m about done. I’ll walk back with you.”
We headed down the row in the direction of the winery. “Keaton is still really interested in that boxing gym,” she said as she walked close beside me. “Do you think you could text me the name and location?”
“Of course.”
“Thanks. I want to get him involved in something physical right away. Did I tell you the therapist Frannie recommended called back? I was able to get appointments for the kids in two weeks, right before our ski trip. Then right after that I leave for California to pack up the house.”
“You’ve got a lot going on.”
“Yes, but all good things.” We reached the winery, and she turned toward me. “Thanks for the lesson. Can I do it again sometime?”
“Sure. I’ll be out here for the next three months.”
“I asked Chloe about helping in the tasting room again too. She said the winter months are pretty slow, so she doesn’t necessarily need help with tastings, but she could use the time to train me.”
“That’s a great idea. By the time business picks up again toward spring, I bet you’ll be ready to take over managing completely.”
“You think so?” she asked hopefully.
“Definitely. You’re a perfect fit.”
Her smile lit up her face, and when she spoke, her voice was soft. “Thank you, Henry. For everything.”
“You’re welcome.” I was praying she’d leave quickly before I did something stupid like kiss her. Already I was doubting my sanity for inviting her back again. And yet my next question was, “Can I walk you home?”
“No, that’s okay. I think it’s better if I head back alone.”
“Okay.”
But she didn’t move a muscle in that direction. “I wish more than anything that things were different,” she said.
“Maybe they will be someday.”
Her expression changed to one of concern. “I don’t expect you to wait for me, Henry. In fact, you shouldn’t. I’ll feel worse.”
“Goodnight, Sylvia.”
For a second, she looked like she might argue the point, but she didn’t. “Goodnight.”
I watched her turn around and walk toward the house until I couldn’t see her anymore, my hand gripping the shears like a vise, my jaw clenched tight, my legs aching to run after her.
But for what? She’d made her position clear, and I couldn’t argue with it. Nothing I said or did was going to change the fact that she couldn’t choose me, and I’d never ask her to.
Every time I thought about all the days and nights her dumb fuck of an ex had her and neglected or betrayed her, I wanted to go back in time and fucking punch his smug face at Mack’s wedding, maybe even flip the table first.
It wasn’t fair that an asshole like that won her heart, and I never even had a chance.
Would I ever?
* * *
Sylvia came to the winery almost every day, even if it was just for a few hours at a time. Sometimes she spent the time with me in the vineyard, or if we got too cold outside we’d go down to the cellar, where I’d teach her about the aging and blending processes. She also spent a good amount of time in the tasting room, where Chloe would coach her in tasting.
My favorite mornings were those we spent alone among the vines. We worked side by side in the cold, but she never once complained about the temperature. Sometimes she brou
ght a thermos of hot chocolate, and we’d share it as we moved along the rows. She grew more confident with the shears, and while she worked, I’d make her repeat back to me the lessons she’d learned.
“We want to look for straight, clean wood starting low on the trunk,” she’d say. “We need to think three years ahead.”
“You know, you’re going to be better than me at this pretty soon,” I teased her.
“Hardly,” she said, laughing. “But thank you.”
Her offer on the new house had been accepted, and as we worked, she described it in more detail—a refurbished nineteenth-century farmhouse with four bedrooms, three baths, beautiful pine floors, a wood-burning fireplace, a big old gray barn, and her favorite, a weathered white picket fence. “It needs some updating,” she said, “especially in the kitchen and baths, but the bones of the house are strong and beautiful.”
“That’s all that matters,” I told her.
“Oh, I wanted to ask you where you found that bathtub at your house. I’d like to order one for the master bath.”
“Sure. I’ll get you the name of the site,” I said, trying not to picture her in the bathtub at my house. It was a struggle whenever I was with her to keep my hands to myself, but after that first day, I refrained from even hugging her. One, I wanted her to know I respected her boundaries, and two, knowing the way I felt about her, I was sure one thing would lead to another. If I hugged her, I’d want to kiss her. If I kissed her, I’d want to touch her. If I touched her, I’d want to get her naked.
I’d want to hear those sounds she made. I’d want to feel her hands on my skin and her tongue in my mouth and her warm, soft body arching beneath mine as I made her come again and again . . .
So no hugs.
But the hours we spent together were the best parts of my day. I loved getting to know her better, hearing about her childhood at Cloverleigh Farms, learning about her sisters as kids—who got in the most trouble (Chloe), who was the most spoiled (baby Frannie), who got the best grades (Meg).
“What about April?” I asked. “What was her thing?”
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