Unbreakable (Cloverleigh Farms, #4)(22)

So when the party wound down and the bar was closing up, I was more than a little surprised when she asked if I’d like to come back to her house for one last drink.

“Don’t you have to put the kids to bed?” I asked.

“Yes, but then I have to wait for them to go to sleep, so I can play Santa.” She stifled a yawn. “If I can stay awake.”

“Ah. So my job is to make sure you don’t fall asleep?”

“Exactly. And to carry the heavy boxes in from the garage.” She laughed, squeezing my bicep through my suit coat. “I need those muscles. I don’t have any.”

“You’re going to get some, remember?” I said, growing hot under the collar at her touch. “You’re going to the gym.”

“That’s right.” She nodded defiantly. “Getting stronger is New Year’s resolution number one.”

“What’s number two?” I asked.

She thought for a second. “Find a way to be happy on my own. But I think they’re related, you know? I’m going to need strength—physical and emotional, to start over.”

I nodded slowly. “That’s true.”

“What about you?” she asked, getting to her feet. “Have you thought of any resolutions yet?”

“I’m not much for that stuff.”

“Well, I am. And I have one for you.” She lifted her chin.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes. You should look into adoption as a single dad.”

“I think you’ve had too much wine.” I got to my feet and adjusted my tie.

She laughed. “That’s entirely possible. Come on, it’s almost midnight. Let’s get the kids and sneak out of here.”





While Sylvia was putting her kids to bed, her parents came in. I was a little embarrassed to be standing there alone in the kitchen.

“Sylvia asked for help playing Santa,” I explained. “She’s getting the kids settled.”

“I don’t blame her,” said Daphne softly, pulling off her heels. “I wish I could stay up and play Santa again, but I’m plum worn out. Plus I want to get up early and make waffles for everyone. That’s what I always did Christmas morning for our kids.”

“I don’t mind staying,” I said.

“Can I pour you a drink?” asked John. But he looked just as exhausted as his wife.

“No, thanks. I’m fine.”

“In that case, I’ll head up too,” he said, yawning loudly. “Those parties are fun, but boy, they’re a lot of work.”

“It was a great party,” I said. “Thanks again for inviting me.”

“Merry Christmas, dear,” Daphne said on her way out of the kitchen. “If you’re not busy tomorrow, come for waffles.”

When I was alone again, I wandered into the family room. It was silent and dark, lit only by the Christmas tree in the corner. I switched on a lamp and went over to the built-in shelves lining the fireplace wall to study the framed photographs.

There was a wedding portrait of Mr. and Mrs. Sawyer and one of Mack and Frannie as well. Baby pictures of Keaton and Whitney. Graduation photos of all five Sawyer sisters. In addition, there were more informal pictures taken around the farm—three little blond girls swimming in the creek during the summer, a gap-toothed Chloe grinning down from a perch in a tree, April swinging tiny Frannie around by the hands with the vineyard in the background.

I heard a noise behind me and turned to see Sylvia coming into the room, still wearing her dress and heels, carrying two glasses of amber liquid. “Hey,” I said quietly, wishing more than anything I could reach out, put my hands on her hips, and pull her flush against me.

“Hey.” She smiled. “I’m glad you’re still here. Sorry it took so long—the kids made me recite The Night Before Christmas like I used to do when they were tiny.”

“You can recite it from memory?”

She shrugged. “One of my hidden talents. Here. I poured us a little scotch from my dad’s secret stash in the library. Don’t tell on me.”

I laughed, taking the glass from her. “Thanks. And speaking of talent.” I gestured toward the photos. “Did you take these?”

She glanced at them. “Yes. A long time ago.”

“They’re beautiful, Sylvia. You have a gift.”

“Thank you.” She sipped her scotch. “I was thinking of maybe talking to my parents about taking some photos for the website and social media. Do you know who runs those accounts?”

“At one point, I think Frannie, but after she left to start the pastry shop, I think social media has sort of been neglected. Talk to Chloe—I bet she’d know.”

“I will. There has to be some way to make myself useful around here, right? I’m just not good at too many things.”

She said it as a joke, but I got the feeling there was something serious in her words too. “Sylvia, you’re good at a lot of things.”

“Like what?”

“You’re an amazing mom. You’re a talented photographer. You’re a fast learner. You’re good with social media. You’re good with social anything—and you can talk to anyone.”

She shrugged it off, like it was nothing. “Talking to people isn’t that hard.”