Unbreakable (Cloverleigh Farms, #4)(53)

“Sheesh, this story is making me feel infinitely better about my parenting skills.” Sylvia smiled at me. “Tell me there’s a happy ending.”

“There is. Perseus brings Andromeda home and they get married and have lots of children. Her constellation is next to his in the sky.”

“Awww, I like that.” Sylvia glanced up at the star-studded winter sky. “So he didn’t kill his grandfather?”

“Oh yeah, he did. But that was more of an accident.”

She laughed and shook her head. “I’ll focus on the happily ever after part. But I’m freezing out here. Are you guys coming in?”

“Can I have a few more minutes?” Keaton begged. “I want to try to find the comet.”

“I’ll stay out here for a few more minutes with him,” I told her. “You can go in and warm up.”

“Thanks,” she said, smiling at me. She glanced at her son. “I really appreciate this.”

“It’s my pleasure.” I watched her go back into the house, feeling anxious beneath my skin.

“So how many stars are actually visible?” Keaton asked.

I tried to remember. “To the naked eye, I think a few thousand. But with your telescope, maybe more like a hundred thousand.”

“Wow.” He moved the telescope slightly to the right. “And how many are there total in the sky?”

“In our galaxy? Oh, maybe a hundred billion or so.”

“A hundred billion in our galaxy alone?” Keaton’s voice was full of awe. “And then more in other galaxies beyond that?”

“Yeah. Amazing, isn’t it?”

I tilted my head and looked up at the sky, wondering which star was the right one to wish on, the one with the most luck, the most magic, the most power to deliver on its promise.

But if my chances of finding it were one in a hundred billion, what hope could I have that Sylvia might one day really be mine?





Fifteen





Sylvia





After leaving Keaton and Henry on the patio, I came in and made some hot chocolate—on the stove top, like my mom used to make it when we were kids, with milk and cocoa powder sweetened with Cloverleigh Farms maple syrup, a little vanilla, and bits of crushed chocolate bar stirred in.

April wandered in while I was putting it together and leaned back against the sink. “So,” she said, her expression amused.

“So?” I focused on stirring the cocoa into the hot milk in the pan.

“So is this what going slow looks like?” She made little air quotes with her fingers.

“Um . . .” I flashed her a guilty grin.

Her eyes lit up. “Spill the tea, sis.”

“Ah, well, we sort of, uh . . .” Heat rose to my face.

“Banged?”

“Shh.” I looked over my shoulder toward the family room, where my parents were sitting. “Yes.”

“I knew it!” she whispered fiercely.

“How did you know?”

“Well, first of all, it was kind of obvious just from looking at you guys tonight. The way you were touching him. The way he looks at you. Also, Chloe texted me a little bit ago and said . . .” She pulled her phone from her back pocket and read aloud. “‘What the fuck is going on between Sylvia and Henry?’” Grinning, she tucked her phone away again. “So it’s not like I’m reading minds.”

“Oh.” I whisked in the vanilla. “I thought maybe Frannie told you.”

April’s mouth fell open. “Frannie knows?”

“It sort of slipped out on Sunday when she was here. But she claimed she could tell something was up between us on Christmas Eve.”

“That’s what I said too! But then you told me the next day you weren’t going to let it go anywhere. You were going to stay away from him for a while.”

“Yeah, I was going to.” I turned off the heat beneath the pan. “But then somehow I didn’t.”

“When did this happen anyway?”

“Saturday night at his house when the kids slept at Frannie’s,” I said, whisking in the chopped-up chocolate bar. “And Sunday evening in the winery.”

“Oh my God!” April clapped both hands over her mouth. “Where in the winery?”

“His office.” Just the thought of it made my body ache for him again.

“Like on his desk?”

“Yes.”

“I can’t believe it.” She shook her head. “So was it good?”

“It was incredible.” I took seven mugs out of the cupboard. “You know how we were wondering last week about where to find a good guy who’s kind of dominant in the bedroom but sweet to you too?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, I found one.”

“He handcuffed you?” she squeaked.

“Will you keep your voice down?” I glanced into the family room again to make sure my parents weren’t listening, and shook my head. “No handcuffs, he was just . . . surprisingly rough and demanding at times. But then he was gentle too. He was exactly what I needed.”

Through the window over the sink, I could see Henry and Keaton, and it warmed my heart and soul to see Henry so patiently pointing things out to my son, answering his questions, teaching him.