Unbreakable (Cloverleigh Farms, #4)(28)

He chuckled. “You’re going to Mack’s house?”

“Yes. Are you?” I asked, excited by the prospect.

“No. I’m going to another friend’s house.”

“Oh.” I tried not to feel too disappointed. Of course he had other friends. “Mack is bringing the girls over to take a ride in the new sleigh this afternoon. You should come.”

“Thanks, but I’ve got some things to do.”

“I doubt any of your things are as fun as a ride in a horse-drawn sleigh with hot chocolate afterward. Maybe even a snowball fight in between.”

He grinned. “I do like a good snowball fight.”

“Well, you’re invited, if you change your mind.”

“Thanks,” he said, but I knew in my gut he wouldn’t come.

I looked down at my mug, rubbing the handle with my thumb. “You know, I wanted to tell you . . . I know what it’s like to go through fertility treatments. I couldn’t get pregnant either.”

“I’m sorry.”

I offered him a sad smile. “Thanks. I feel very grateful that IVF worked for me. I never did get an answer as to why I can’t get pregnant—just stubborn, defiant eggs, I guess. Anyway, I didn’t mention it the other night because I felt bad. I didn’t want you to think I was comparing my situation to yours. Obviously, I got lucky, and—”

“You don’t have to feel guilty, Sylvia. I’m happy for you. I’m sorry you had to go through what you did, because I know how hard it is, but there’s no reason for you to feel bad that you have two perfect kids. I would never begrudge anyone a family just because I don’t have one.”

God, he was such a good guy. It really sucked that his wife had given up on the marriage. I was trying not to be judgmental—after all, I didn’t have her side of things—but it was hard not to wonder how she could let a guy like Henry go. Again I wondered if he’d like to get remarried someday, try again to have a family.

But it was really none of my business.

I took one last sip and set my mug down. “I should probably get back. Thanks for the coffee, and for the talk. I was feeling really bad about the way we left things last night.”

“I was too.” He stood up. “I’m glad you came by.”

Rising to my feet, I nearly put a hand on his shoulder, but then I remembered—no touching. I quickly shoved my hands beneath my armpits. “Near rule infraction. Sorry. This might take some getting used to.”

He laughed, following me to the front door. “Just don’t wear the red dress again, and we’ll be fine.”

I tugged on my boots. “I shall banish it from my wardrobe forever.”

“Good.” He took my coat from the closet and held it out; I slipped my arms inside and zipped it up.

When I faced him again, he looked much more relaxed than he had when I’d arrived—maybe not totally at ease, but at least less tense. “Are we okay?” I asked softly.

“We’re okay.”

“Good.” I grinned. “I’d hug you goodbye, but—”

“Don’t you fucking dare.” He moved around me and opened the door. “Now get out of here before I throw you out.”

“I’m going, I’m going.” But when I was halfway out, I looked at him over my shoulder. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas. Give my best to your family.”

“I will. Bye.”

“Bye.”

I hurried to my dad’s Cadillac and started it up, waving to him one last time as I backed out of the driveway.

By the time I got home fifteen minutes later, I felt both relieved and slightly let down, which I realized was totally unfair. I should be glad he hadn’t tried anything, right? The whole point of going over there had been to reassure him we were still friends while firmly establishing the safe boundaries of that relationship.

We couldn’t kiss again. We couldn’t touch each other. I wasn’t allowed to wear the red dress, and he wasn’t allowed to call me beautiful. If we stayed inside those lines, eventually the burgeoning desire we felt for one another would ease up, right?

Of course it would. It had to. Last night had just been emotional for both of us—our first Christmas Eve alone—and we’d sought solace in each other.

But I had to admit there was a part of me that had been hoping we’d take one look at each other today and pick up right where we’d left off last night. It would have been reckless and wrong and irresponsible, but that little part of me was definitely alive and feisty and kicking at its cage.

After all this time, it would have felt good to set it free.





Eight





Henry





I shut the door behind Sylvia and went back to the couch, where I’d been lying around feeling sorry for myself one minute and hating myself the next.

I still couldn’t believe what I’d done last night.

Actually, that’s not true—I could totally believe it. I’d been thinking about kissing her since she walked into the winery the other night. But how had I lost control that way? Was I a fucking animal?

Maybe I could blame Santa. If it wasn’t for him, I wouldn’t have been there so late at night, I wouldn’t have fantasized about being married to her, I wouldn’t have given in to that compulsion to know what it felt like to touch her, to pretend she was mine just for a moment.