Unbreakable (Cloverleigh Farms, #4)(30)

“My friend Coco is actually interviewing at Cloverleigh Farms after the holidays,” Mia added.

“Oh, really? For what position?”

“Apparently, April is looking for some help with event planning. Coco and I used to run an event planning business in Detroit together, and she took it over and ran it on her own before they moved up here. She’s a total pro. She’s only looking for part-time work, but when Chloe called and asked if I knew anyone, I thought of her right away.”

“Sounds perfect,” I said as we entered the kitchen, a large airy space full of natural stone and wood.

Lucas stood at the marble-topped island chopping carrots, but when he saw me, he put down the knife and came forward to shake my hand. “Hey, stranger. How are you?”

“Good.”

“Thanks for coming. Can I get you something to drink? Beer? Glass of wine? Cocktail?” Lucas spoke perfect English, but still retained the slight accent of someone who’d grown up speaking two languages.

“Wine’s good.”

Mia reached for the knife. “Why don’t you guys open a bottle, pour me a glass, and go sit in the library? I can handle things in here for a bit.”

Lucas looked at me and wrapped an arm around his wife, getting her in a headlock. “She’s trying to get rid of me. I’m probably not chopping the carrots to her precise specifications.”

“Stop it,” Mia protested, laughing and swatting at his arm. “I’m not trying to get rid of you. I just know you guys haven’t seen each other in a while.”

Lucas kissed the top of her head and let her go. “Thanks, love.” To me, he said, “I’ve got a bottle of Burgundy I’ve been dying to open.”

“Perfect,” I said, tamping down another jolt of jealousy at the easy affection Lucas enjoyed with his wife. Had Renee and I ever had that? If so, I couldn’t remember.

In the library, Lucas and I sat in leather chairs drinking Burgundy and discussing last season’s harvest and what we thought we might see this winter.

Eventually, the other guests arrived, and we moved into the kitchen, everyone pitching in with the meal preparations, and then into the dining room, turning the kitchen over to the kids for eating.

Coco and Nick had four kids—three dark-haired, dark-eyed, school-age boys and one tiny, doe-eyed girl still unsteady on her feet. She stumbled once on the stone floor, and Nick picked her up and hugged her close, drying her tears.

Skylar and Sebastian had twins, a boy and a girl, that I guessed were around three. Add the Fourniers’ three children to the mix, and the picnic-style table in the kitchen was pure chaos. One parent or another was always getting up from the dining room table to go cut someone’s meat or wipe up a spill or put an end to an argument. Still, I envied that too. It was hard not to notice I was the only single, childless person at the adult table. At least nobody asked about Renee.

After dinner, the grownups sat around in the large great room with coffee and dessert while the kids played games on the floor near the Christmas tree. Around eight, the other two families packed up and said goodnight, but Lucas asked me to stick around. “Just let me help get the monkeys in bed, and I’ll be right back down. Make yourself at home.”

“No hurry,” I said, watching him leave the room with his son on his back. Mia had already taken the other two upstairs.

While he was gone, I tortured myself by scrolling through social media on my phone, looking at everyone’s joyful Christmas morning photos. It made me feel worse, of course, so I put away my phone and wondered if I should make up an excuse and leave. I was so sick of feeling like the odd man out everywhere I went—even the fucking internet.

But just as I was about to stand up, Lucas returned with a bottle in one hand and two glasses in the other. “Done,” he said. “So how about some scotch?”

“Sounds good.”

He poured and handed one glass to me. “I’m glad you came tonight. I wasn’t sure you would.”

I shrugged, tilting my scotch this way and that, watching the legs of the amber liquid coat the glass. “I thought about canceling. But I didn’t want to be an asshole.”

“Since when?”

I gave his grinning face the finger.

“Seriously,” he went on. “Mia and I are glad you’re here. You’ve been such a hermit lately.”

“Yeah, well . . . I’ve been busy at work.”

“Really? Or are you just working yourself into the ground to avoid dealing with your issues?”

I gave him an irritated look. Lucas had been a psychology major and had taught college psych for a few years. Sometimes he fell back into the habit of analyzing people.

“Look, you can tell me to fuck off, but if you want to talk or whatever, I’m here.”

Instead of responding, I took another sip of my scotch.

“Is that ‘fuck off, Lucas’?

I managed a wry smile. “It’s close.”

“Okay, fine. If you tell me you’re okay, I’ll believe you and leave you the hell alone.”

“I’m telling you, I’m okay. It’s taking some effort to come to terms with everything, but with time and scotch and porn, I’m getting there.”

He laughed and tipped up his glass. “Maybe you need to get laid.”