Feels Like Home

by Beth Andrews

  Oh, no. No way was she getting involved in this. It was true she’d spent Tuesday evening at Connie’s house, explaining an event manager’s responsibilities and yes, Connie had seemed less than interested.

  Not her problem, Yvonne assured herself as she retook her seat. “I’m afraid I’m not comfortable giving my opinion,” she said.

  An opinion he had no right to ask for. This wasn’t her company. Wasn’t her family. Soon she’d be back in Charleston where she belonged. Back to World Class Weddings and her clients and her lonely apartment.

  “This is my fault,” Diane said quietly from the head of the table. She looked at Connie. “I’m so sorry. I never meant to hurt you. And I certainly never meant to do anything that would make you think you wouldn’t have a place here. That you weren’t a part of this family.”

  Yvonne stared at the table and hoped no one could see how much she wished Diane was saying those things to her.

  “But you did,” Matt said to his mother as he slid his arm around Connie’s shoulders. “You didn’t care about how your decisions would affect any of us. All you cared about was yourself.”

  “Shut up,” Aidan growled, his hands fisted on the table.

  Matt bristled. Let go of Connie so he could turn in his chair and face his eldest brother, his expression hard. “The hell I will. What did the old man always tell us? That our actions have consequences. Well, now she has to deal with those consequences, good or bad.”

  Aidan rose part way from his seat. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Diane held out a hand. “No, that’s all right, Aidan.” She inhaled deeply. “You’re right, Matt. I have to live with the choices I’ve made. And I know you’re still angry about my forcing you back to the Diamond Dust. I know you…you may never forgive me.”

  “I didn’t say that.” Matt tipped his head from side to side, then exhaled heavily. “You told me I needed to forgive Dad in order to move on from the past, and you were right. But just because things worked out for the best—” he stroked a hand over Connie’s short hair “—doesn’t mean I like how you got me here. You took away my choices.”

  “I did. I’m so sorry. I was desperate. And afraid you’d never come back.” Diane pressed her trembling lips together and reached over for her fiancé’s hand, clutching it so hard, her knuckles turned white. “I…I have to tell you something.” She swallowed. “I’m just not sure I can.”

  “You can,” Aidan said quietly, encouragingly.

  Yvonne’s stomach clenched. The back of her neck turned cold with apprehension and she pushed her chair back to stand. “Maybe I should leave.”

  She didn’t want to be a part of what was obviously a personal conversation.

  “No,” Diane said. “Please. This involves you, too, and I’d…I’d really like you to stay.”

  Yvonne slowly nodded, saw the same fear and nervousness she was feeling on the faces of the people gathered at the table.

  Diane sipped her water, her hand unsteady. “I did everything in my power to make sure things turned out how I wanted them to. I wanted my sons to run the winery together so I threatened to sell the Diamond Dust if they didn’t all agree.” She smiled sadly at Yvonne. “I wanted you and Aidan back together, so I hired you to plan my wedding, to work for us.”

  Yvonne twisted her napkin in her fingers. She couldn’t even glance at Aidan.

  “It didn’t matter what any of you thought, what plans or dreams you had,” Diane continued. “I convinced myself I was doing it for you. That all I wanted was your happiness. And while I do want you to be happy—I want that more than anything—the truth is, I was selfish.” She inhaled deeply. “And I’m sorry.”

  “Okay,” Matt said, “now you’re freaking me out. Who are you and what have you done with our real mother?”

  “Not funny,” Aidan snapped.

  Diane cleared her throat. “There’s no easy way to say this…”

  “Just tell us,” Brady said in his low voice. J.C. laid her hand on his forearm on top of the table.

  Diane nodded. “I have breast cancer.”

  HEARING HIS MOTHER announce her illness for the second time didn’t make it any easier for Aidan to accept. Or to bear. He wanted to punch something.

  Everyone except Al was visibly shocked. J.C. brought her hand to her mouth, while Connie shook her head slowly, as if to deny his mother’s words. To his right, Yvonne sat back in her seat, but he couldn’t look at her fully. Couldn’t take the chance he’d meet her eyes. That she’d see the fear he was trying so hard to hide. To fight.

  “How bad?” Brady asked.

  “Not as bad as it could be,” their mother said. “Worse than any of us, including my doctor, would like, of course. I…I had my first chemotherapy treatment Tuesday. My oncologist wants to try and shrink the size of the tumor before surgery.”

  She’d started treatment. She was going to fight this. Thank God.

  “You’ve known?” Matt asked as he sat at the edge of his seat, his voice hoarse. “You’ve started treatments and you’re just telling us now?”

  “I wanted to wait until I was sure…” She met his eyes, then Brady’s, then Aidan’s. “Until I’d decided whether or not to receive treatment.”

  The stunned silence was broken when Connie started to cry softly.

  “After witnessing how your father… I’m not sure I’m strong enough to fight this,” Diane explained.

  Aidan’s clenched his fists on his thighs. Damn it. He should be able to fix this.

  Yvonne laid her hand over his. Her skin was warm, her touch gentle. And more comforting than she could ever know. He shuddered out a quiet breath and turned his hand over, linked his fingers with hers.

  Connie didn’t even bother wiping away the tears streaking down her face. “You were just going to give up?”

  His mother lowered her eyes. “I considered it. But now I’m willing to fight, for as long as it takes, no matter what. I’m fighting for you. For all of you.” She looked at Brady and J.C. “I want to see my grandson born. I want to watch him take his first steps, say his first words. I want more Saturday afternoons baking cookies with Payton and Abby.” She blinked rapidly. “But it won’t be easy. As we all know, there are no guarantees I’ll get through this.”

  Matt shoved a hand through his hair. “God, don’t say that.”

  “I have to say it. If I’m going through treatments, we all have to be realistic about what’s to come. What the outcome might be. And we have to be willing to face that outcome, no matter what.” Aidan easily recognized the stubborn tilt of her chin. “I may have been…wrong…to force you all into taking over the winery.” She looked to Al, who nodded. “And if any of you want to back out of the agreement we made, I won’t hold it against you. I won’t sell the Diamond Dust.”

  Aidan squeezed Yvonne’s hand so tightly she flinched. He loosened his grip but couldn’t let go. For years he’d put his family—what was best for his father’s company—first. And now, suddenly, the weight of responsibility he’d carried for the past eight years disappeared. He could walk away from the Diamond Dust and Jewell with no recriminations. No guilt. He could finish law school. Or maybe he’d discover a new dream, a different future.

  For the first time in a very long time, he had a choice.

  “I’m still in,” Brady said.

  “Me, too,” Matt added gruffly. “There’s nowhere I’d rather be than right here.”

  All focus shifted to Aidan. He raised his head, saw the concern in Yvonne’s eyes. The same question that hung in the air. What would he do?

  He exhaled, and as he did, something inside him broke free. He had a choice.

  And he knew exactly what he wanted.

  “Looks as if things are staying the way you planned,” he told his mother. “The Diamond Dust is our future now.”

  “AIDAN,” YVONNE SAID later that night, unable to keep the surprise from her voice. “What are you doing here?”

  She
winced. No, that hadn’t been the most polite thing to say. But honestly, when a man showed up at a woman’s door after ten at night, she had the right to know what he wanted. Especially if that man also happened to be your ex-husband who’d barely spoken to you in days, only to cling to your hand when his mother announced she had cancer.

  Aidan didn’t seem to mind her rudeness. In the dim glow of the porch light his expression was blank, his eyes unreadable. “Can I come in?”

  A chill racked her and she pulled the edges of her robe closed. Oh, that was such a bad idea. The least of which being what had happened the last time he’d shown up here unannounced wanting her to let him in.

  “It’s late,” she hedged. “I was just getting ready for bed.”

  His gaze slid over her, from her damp hair and her face, down the short, fuzzy robe to her bare legs and brightly polished toes. “I don’t mean to disrupt your night. I was hoping we could…talk.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “Talk? Is that what they’re calling it these days?”

  To her surprise, a flush stained his cheeks. “I just…I need someone to talk to,” he admitted, his raspy voice washing over her. “I need you, Yvonne.”

  She caught her breath and tightened her grip on the robe. No. No, no, no. She couldn’t let him in. It was late. He had no right to show up here, not after how things had ended between them the other night.

  Besides, she wasn’t prepared for company. She’d showered earlier and had spent the past hour researching favors for a November wedding she was planning, while catching up on episodes of Top Chef. Her hair was drying in frizzy waves; her face was clean of makeup. And all she wore under her favorite, fuzzy robe was a long-sleeved silk caftan that barely reached midthigh.

  She was tired. Her emotional barriers were down.

  But he needed her. Not some nebulous idea of who he thought she should be. Her.

  Stepping back, she opened the door farther. “I’ll make coffee.”

  She padded down the hall, her heart racing. She wanted to run into the bathroom, comb her hair, throw on some foundation—or at the very least mascara and blush. Put on something less revealing. She filled the coffeepot and heard him come into the kitchen, the scrape of the chair against the floor as he sat down. Still, she kept her back to him as she counted out scoops, started the machine.

  Once coffee began to drip into the pot, the aroma filling the air, she pulled two cups and saucers from an upper cabinet, took the creamer from the fridge and placed them both on the table along with spoons. She opened the bag of sugar cookies she’d picked up during her last shopping trip, and arranged some on a plate, setting them in front of Aidan before sitting across from him.

  He looked so lost. Her heart broke for him. “I’m sorry about your mom,” she said.

  “She’ll beat it.”

  But he didn’t sound convinced. Leaning forward, Yvonne grasped his hand. “She will. She’s an incredibly strong woman.”

  “My dad was strong, too,” he said, so quietly she had to strain to hear. “The strongest man I knew. Do you know he never got sick? Always bragged about how he didn’t catch so much as a cold, and then one day he complained to Mom of stomach pain. He thought it was food poisoning, then some sort of stomach bug. He didn’t even see a doctor until the pain spread to his back.” Aidan stroked the back of Yvonne’s hand with his thumb, gazing down. “Six months later, he was gone.”

  Her throat closed. “I remember. I know how hard it was for you, for all of you.”

  “My dad was a good man. Not perfect by any stretch of the imagination. But even though he made mistakes, he stayed true to who he was without apologizing for it. All my life I’ve been told how I’m just like him. For so long, I thought that meant I didn’t have to apologize for anything, especially not for who I am. But now…” He leaned back and rubbed both hands over his face before meeting her eyes. “I never meant to hurt you, Yvonne.”

  She hadn’t meant to hurt him, either. But she had. She turned a cup on the saucer so the handle was on the right side. “We both made mistakes. I should’ve told you I was unhappy. Should’ve explained why I had to leave. Maybe we just…weren’t meant to be.”

  But she was no longer sure she believed that.

  He swallowed. “I’m scared.”

  His words, so soft, so honest, ripped into her. She knew what it cost him to admit that, how hard it was for him to show any weakness.

  And he’d come here, opened himself up to her. It wasn’t about love. It was more elemental. He needed her. And for tonight, that would be enough for her.

  She stood, shut off the coffeepot and circled the table. “Come with me,” she said, holding out her hand.

  Frowning, he let her pull him to his feet. “Yvonne, what—”

  She silenced him with a warm kiss. “I want to make love to you. Let me,” she whispered against his mouth. “Let me comfort you. Let me love you.”

  His fingers tightened on her hand. He searched her eyes. “Are you sure?”

  In answer, she tugged him down the hallway to her bedroom. Crossed to the bedside table and turned on the lamp before nudging him down onto the bed. He reached for her but she stepped back.

  You’re hiding.

  He’d been right. She had hid from him. Was still hiding. But not anymore.

  With her eyes on his, she undid the tie at her waist, let the robe slide off her arms to pool on the floor at her feet. His breathing quickened in the silence of the room, but he kept his hands clasped loosely between his knees, his gaze hot. Intent.

  She stepped between his legs and he straightened. The silk of her caftan rubbed softly against her thighs. Against her breasts. Her nipples hardened. Jutted against the fabric.

  Holding her breath, she crossed her arms and grasped the hem of the nightdress, pulled it up and over her head. Wearing only a pair of pink panties, she met his eyes, her pulse racing, and hoped he could see what she was offering. Not just her body, but all of her. Everything she’d kept from him before. Everything she’d been so afraid to share with him.

  He slowly got to his feet and cupped her face in his hands, his touch so gentle it was all she could do not to cry. “You’ve never looked more beautiful.”

  She’d had men tell her she was beautiful before, too many times to count. But she’d never believed it. Until now.

  He skimmed his hands up her sides, over her ribs, as he kissed her. A soft, sweet kiss that warmed her heart and seemed to fill an emptiness inside her—an emptiness she’d felt ever since she’d left Aidan.

  She didn’t know if she’d ever be able to walk away from him again.

  She kissed him back. Undressed him slowly, her hands stroking his taut skin, feeling the play of muscles in his arms. His chest. She trailed her fingers down his stomach and he inhaled sharply. But he didn’t stop her from undoing his pants, or helping him slide them down so he could kick them off. And when he stood before her, all hard planes and sharp angles, she hooked her thumbs into the elastic waist of her underwear and shimmied out of them. Pushed him onto his back on her bed and straddled him.

  And in the dimly lit room, the silence broken by an occasional sigh or moan, she did what she’d never allowed herself to do fully, without reservation or fears.

  She loved him.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  AIDAN SAT ON the edge of the bed and watched Yvonne sleep. Her hair was a jumbled blond mess against the pillow, her lips parted, her expression peaceful.

  He shouldn’t have spent the night. He should’ve gotten dressed and left her alone in bed after they’d made love the first time, but she’d collapsed on top of him, her body lax and warm and coated in a fine sheen of sweat. He’d stroked her hair, the long line of her back, and tucked her against his side, and they’d both fallen asleep.

  And when he’d woken reaching for her, for a moment he’d thought he was back in his own bed, dreaming of her as he did so many nights. But it wasn’t a dream. She curled into him and kissed him, her soft
hands seeking as she caressed him. They’d made love again, this time at a frantic pace.

  He hadn’t wanted the night to end.

  He scrubbed a hand through his hair, not taking his eyes from her face. But of course, it had to end. All things did. As someone who worked the land, he knew that better than anyone. The grapes that came to life in the spring, that grew thick and bountiful in the summer and gave their fruit in the fall harvest, turned dormant during the cold winter months.

  Life was a cycle. There were always new beginnings, just as there were endings. People died. Marriages became broken, some so badly no repair was possible.

  Being with Yvonne last night, making love with her, holding her like he used to made him realize two things: he still wanted her. Probably still even loved her.

  But he had to walk away.

  He had no control over himself or his feelings about her. And if a man didn’t have control, didn’t have his pride, he had nothing.

  She scared the hell out of him.

  She shifted and stretched an arm over head, the sheet sliding down to reveal the curve of her naked breast. He couldn’t look away. She was so beautiful, so alluring in ways she didn’t even realize.

  “Good morning,” she said in a sexy, sleepy voice that about tore apart every rationalization he had for not sliding back into bed with her. A small frown creased her forehead. “Do you have to be to work early?”

  He forced himself to stand. “No.”

  She glanced at the digital clock by the bed, and smiled seductively. “Why don’t you get undressed and come back to bed?”

  He wanted to. So badly his body ached with it. “I can’t.”

  She slowly pulled the sheet up to her chin. “Can’t?” she asked quietly. “Or won’t?”

  “Both.”

  “I see.” She sat up, dragging the sheet with her. “If you say last night was a mistake, I may have to hurt you.”