Unbreakable (Cloverleigh Farms, #4)(21)

“Not at all.” I studied her hands for a moment, imagining those pale, graceful fingers wrapped around my cock.

“It’s been so long since I’ve had a heart-to-heart with a friend.”

Knock it off, asshole. She’s talking to you. She’s calling you her friend.

I forced myself to look her in the eye. “Same here.”

She wrinkled her nose. “I might have gone a little overboard with the sharing.”

“If you did, I did.”

She shook her head. “You didn’t at all. I was glad you told me those things. I mean, I’m so sorry you went through them, but I’m grateful you trusted me enough to talk about them. It made me feel less alone, like I’m not the only one still making mistakes and tripping on the path to wherever it is I’m going.”

I swallowed more whiskey. “You’re definitely not the only one.”

“Good. Any time you want to talk again, I’m here.”

I could think of plenty of things I’d rather do than talk with her, but I kept my mouth shut.

“So what are your plans for this week?” she asked brightly. “Since the inn and winery are closed, you’ve got time off, right?”

I nodded. “More or less.”

“What will you do? Go visit family?”

“No, I’m not planning any travel. I’ve got some projects around the house I’ve been putting off, but I’ll also probably come into work.”

“Work!” She looked at me like I was nuts.

“There are things that have to be done or checked every day, and I gave my assistant the entire week off, so . . .” I shrugged. “I need to do them.”

“Do you want help?” she asked, sitting up straighter in her seat. “Maybe you could teach me . . . some more things. I’ve always wanted to learn more about the winemaking at Cloverleigh, and I really enjoyed the lesson on tasting the other night. Plus I told Chloe I’d fill in while she’s short-staffed in the tasting room next week. I’d be happy to come in and assist you during the next few days—if you need the help, I mean.”

What I needed was for her to get out of my head, and spending more time with her—especially without other people around—wasn’t going to help whatsoever. But she looked so eager, I couldn’t bring myself to say no. “Uh, sure.”

Her face lit up. “Great! I’m excited. And it will be such a good distraction for me too.”

Distraction? How about the way she was crossing her legs toward me? Or the way her thick dark lashes framed those light blue eyes? Or the way her bare shoulders seemed to shimmer a little in the bar’s low light? My skin felt hot beneath my suit. My shirt felt too tight on my chest, and the crotch of my pants was definitely snug.

I downed the rest of my drink and set the empty glass on the bar. “Could I have another?” I asked the bartender, loosening the knot in my tie.

Sylvia laughed. “Is it the prospect of spending more time with me?”

That actually made me crack half a smile. “You have no idea.”





Sylvia and I pretty much hid out in the bar all night. Occasionally one of us would get up—I’d bring back a plate of food for us, she’d check on the kids—but mostly we just stayed on those two stools at the end of the bar, drinking whiskey and wine, pretending we were the only two people in the room, maybe even in the world.

We talked a lot about the vineyard, the upcoming season, what happens at the winery during the winter, but also about vineyards she’d visited in California and Europe. We’d been to some of the same ones in northern France, and I told her about how I’d adapted some of the techniques I’d learned from working the harvest there. She listened attentively and asked intelligent questions, and I knew she’d learn quickly.

“Did you ever think about going into the wine industry after college?” I asked her.

“Not back then.” She swirled the wine in her glass. “I was going to be a photojournalist.”

“Really?”

“I wanted to travel the world and tell stories with pictures,” she announced grandly, making a sweeping gesture with her hand.

I sipped my whiskey. “What happened?”

She sighed. “I got married. Had a family. I don’t regret it, because my kids are the best thing that ever happened to me, but I do sometimes miss that feeling of being creative.”

“Do you still take pictures?”

“Not too much anymore. Nothing artistic anyway. Mostly I took them for social media, so I could continue fooling everyone into thinking my life was perfect.” She shook her head. “So stupid.”

I’d seen her photos on social media, and they had made her life look impossibly perfect. But still, she had an eye for beauty. “You should get back into it. Even if it’s just to be creative.”

She smiled and laughed softly. “Thanks. Maybe I will.”

The hours flew by, and the more I talked to her, the more attracted I was to her. But Sylvia wasn’t the type to openly flirt, and I was careful to keep my words clean, even though my thoughts drifted. Her leg brushed against mine once or twice, which nearly made me lose my cool, but overall, there was nothing suggestive about either our conversation or our body language.