Unbreakable (Cloverleigh Farms, #4)(14)

“Yes. But I can’t come.”

“Why not?”

I shrugged. “I’m working.”

Sylvia rolled her eyes. “It’s Christmas, Henry! Take a break!”

“It’s not Christmas yet.”

“It is in our house. Starting today, the inn is officially closed to guests for a whole week, and that means Christmas vacation at Cloverleigh Farms starts right now.” She held up both hands, but they were lost in my sleeves. “I can appreciate that you want to wait for Jesus’s actual birthday to celebrate, but I feel certain he will not mind if you come have dinner with us tonight. In fact, he wants you to. He told me.”

I laughed. “Jesus told you he wants me to come have dinner with you?”

“Yes. He said you’ve been working too hard.”

“I feel like Jesus has more important things to worry about.”

She shook her head. “We can’t question, Jesus, Henry. Now let’s go. I bet you haven’t eaten yet, and I’ve had sweet and spicy party meatballs in the slow cooker all day.”

My mouth watered. “Meatballs, huh?”

She saw my weakness. “Yes. And that’s just an appetizer. There’s a ham in the oven, and honey-roasted butternut squash, crispy Brussels sprouts with bacon and pecans . . .”

Real food.

I groaned right along with my belly. “You’re killing me.”

“Good. Come and eat.”

“Look at me. I’m a mess, Sylvia.”

“Doesn’t matter what you’re wearing, tonight is casual.”

I was trying to think up another excuse when she moved closer. For a second, I was scared to breathe. Because whether she smelled like cookies or party meatballs or perfume, I was going to want some.

“Hey,” she said quietly. “I know you don’t find big social gatherings much fun these days. I don’t either, and I will totally understand if you’d rather go home. But I had a really nice time talking with you last night, and—” She stopped.

“And what?”

She lifted her shoulders. “I guess that’s it. I had a really nice time talking with you last night.” Then she began shimmying out of my coat. “Look, don’t worry about dinner. It’s totally understandable that you’d rather be alone, and I didn’t mean to—”

“Sylvia.” I grabbed the sleeves of my Carhartt on her upper arms before she got it off, effectively trapping her. “I don’t want to be alone tonight. It’s not that.”

“So what is it?”

“I just . . .” But how was I supposed to finish the sentence? I just think you’re too beautiful? I just can’t stop thinking about kissing you? I just had this dream about you last night that made me come so hard, I don’t trust myself alone with you, and would you mind stepping over here beneath the riesling spigot so I can show you what I did?

She was completely still and looking at me like she was half hopeful, half scared.

For a few crazy seconds, I thought, Fuck it. Just kiss her.

Suddenly the door to the winery flew open. “Hey! You guys coming or what?” It was April, bundled up properly in a long puffy jacket. “Mom sent me to come find you.”

Letting go of Sylvia, I stepped back and tried to breathe normally.

“He’s giving me a hard time,” Sylvia said. But her voice shook a little.

“Screw that.” April pointed at me. “You’re coming to dinner, Henry. It’s Christmas.”

I gave up the fight. “Okay, but I need to run home to shower.”

“Take your time,” April said. “We’re not going anywhere. Mack and Frannie and the kids just got there, and Chloe and Oliver haven’t even arrived yet. Meg and Noah are running late too.”

“What can I bring?” I asked her.

April shook her head. “Nothing, just come.”

I wouldn’t show up empty-handed, but I could worry about that later. “Okay, I’ll see you in a little bit.”

“Good,” April said. “Coming, Syl?”

“Yes.” She started to remove my Carhartt again, but I reached out and stopped her.

“Wear it. It’s too cold for you to be out there without a coat.”

Her face flushed as she zipped it up. “Okay. Thanks. See you in a little bit.”

I watched them walk out and wondered if it was normal to feel like a fifteen-year-old boy in a grown man’s body. Hormones I’d forgotten I had were surging through my veins, and my heart was beating way too fast. She was so fucking pretty.

It’s fine, I told myself as I got ready to go. It’s normal. It’s a biological response. She’s a beautiful woman paying a lot of attention to you, and you haven’t had sex in a really long time.

But letting her wear my coat was as far as this could go.





Five





Sylvia





Henry’s jacket was thick and warm and smelled really good—not like fancy cologne or aftershave—but something earthy and wintry and masculine. I’d smelled the same scent last night, standing close to him in the winery. As I walked, I dipped my chin deeper inside the collar and inhaled deeply.