Unbreakable (Cloverleigh Farms, #4)(69)

“Sylvia. Look at me.”

Reluctantly, I dragged my eyes up to hers. “What?”

“I fully understand that Whitney needs time to get used to the idea of moving here, and feeling like she belongs, and seeing you with a man that’s not her dad. Mack said as much to Henry last night as well, since he’s gone through it with his girls. But why on earth would you think you couldn’t be right for Henry? He’s seriously crazy about you—you’re crazy about each other. I could see it last night. Everyone could.”

“Because we’re at different places in our lives,” I said, going with the strongest reason I’d come up with last night. “He wants children. I’ve already had mine.”

She crossed her arms. “Yeah, Mack tried that excuse with me too, and I called bullshit. So try again.”

“You’re not even thirty yet, Frannie. I’m going on forty. And . . . I’ve never really talked about this before, but I’ve got infertility problems. My eggs are bad quality. I had to have IVF twice to get pregnant.”

Her face registered surprise, but she quickly recovered. “I’m sorry to hear that. But I still don’t get why it’s a reason you can’t give Henry a chance. He doesn’t want to date your eggs. He wants to date you.”

I stood up and went over to the dresser, catching my reflection in the mirror. I’d tried to disguise the evidence of my sleepless night with makeup, but I still looked pale and puffy-eyed. My hands trembled. “I just can’t handle it, Frannie. I’m not ready.”

She sighed. “Okay. I’m not going to pressure you. I’m only going to say this once, then I’ll shut up. If you’re going to push Henry away for the sake of your kids, I get it. Single parents have to do that sometimes. But if you’re using the kids as an excuse to push him away because you’re scared to let someone in—”

“I’m not doing that.” I spun around and faced her. Gulped. “Much.”

She shook her head. “Right.”

“Put yourself in my position, Frannie,” I pleaded. “If you had to walk a mile in my shoes, you wouldn’t do things any differently. You would protect your kids . . . and yourself.”

“It’s hard to argue with you when you put it like that. I just want you to be happy, Sylvia.”

“I know.” I swallowed hard. “I’m working on it.”

Rising to her feet, she came over and hugged me. Then she took my arm and tugged me toward the door. “Come on. Let’s go have some nachos and a margarita.”





The next few days passed by in a blur. The house in Santa Barbara sold for over asking price, and I made arrangements to return to California to pack it all up and ship things here within thirty days. The kids and I looked at eight different houses for sale and ended up making an offer on one—a refurbished farmhouse on two and a half acres about ten miles from Cloverleigh. I purchased an SUV, scheduled appointments for Whitney and Keaton at the therapist’s, and took them school supply shopping.

And I didn’t stop thinking about Henry for one second.

But I still hadn’t been able to face the idea of seeing him yet. I knew I was putting off a conversation I didn’t want to have. And part of me was scared that once I laid eyes on him, I wouldn’t be strong enough to give him up. My feelings for him hadn’t changed—I wanted to be with him.

On the final Saturday night of winter break, Frannie brought the girls over for one final vacation sleepover. “How are you?” she asked as she was leaving. “Lots going on, huh?”

“I can’t even tell you. My brain is fried.” I stuck a bag of popcorn in the microwave.

“I can’t wait to see the house.”

“I really do love it. Needs work, of course, but it’s perfect for us.”

“Are the kids nervous about starting school?”

“A little. But excited. We drove by both schools today. They seem okay.”

“You get them appointments with that therapist yet?”

I nodded, pulling a container of lemonade from the fridge. “Yes. Week after next. That was the soonest she could get them in.”

“Good.” She paused a moment. “Have you talked to Henry?”

Guilt tightened my stomach. “Not yet. I needed some time.”

“No pressure. I was just asking.” She zipped up her coat and pulled her keys from her pocket. “Thanks for having the girls tonight. See you tomorrow.”

That night I sat with the kids and watched a movie, but my mind wasn’t on the action onscreen. It was on Henry and how much I missed him. How badly I wished things could be different. How heartsick I was that when I saw him next, I wouldn’t get to touch him or kiss him or hear him say any of the things that always made me feel so good.

But it was for the best, I kept telling myself. My mother might have raised me to follow my heart, but right now that was a luxury I couldn’t afford.





Twenty-One





Henry





I spent the first few days of the new year in the vineyard, brooding in the cold as I hand-selected the buds to start the next season’s growth with. Normally, I loved the work—the first steps in the creative journey of the next vintage—but this year I was surly, gruff, and short-tempered. Mariela eventually stopped asking me how things were going, and the few hired hands I trusted to assist with pruning got the hint pretty fast that something was off with me this year. They took orders from me but kept to themselves, and they didn’t invite me to go for beers after work like they had in the past.