Unbreakable (Cloverleigh Farms, #4)(70)

Every day I hoped Sylvia might show up or even just send me a text telling me how she was doing, but she never did. Whenever Chloe stopped by the winery, I resisted the urge to ask about her, but the questions in my head were making me crazy.

Was she okay? Were the kids okay? Did they hate me? Did she still think I was a good man? Had we ruined everything, or was there any chance for us? I thought about her constantly and missed her with pangs like hunger.

And then five days into January, on a snowy Sunday afternoon, she came to find me in the vineyard.

I saw her coming up the row, bundled up in her winter jacket, hat pulled low over her head, hands tucked into her pockets. She walked toward me slowly, but she smiled when she got close, like she couldn’t help it. “Hi.”

“Hi.” I felt like I couldn’t breathe, and I didn’t know what to do with my arms. They hung inert at my sides, shears clutched in one hand.

“Cold out here.”

“Yeah.” I scrambled for words. All I could think was, She’s so damn beautiful. “How are you?”

“I’m okay. We’ve been busy.”

“Yeah?”

She nodded. “I bought a car. Our house in California sold. And I put in an offer on a house here.”

“Really? That fast, huh?”

“It’s perfect for us, and the kids love it. It’s not really even officially on the market yet, but our agent knew it was coming on and had a feeling it would be the right one. We went to see it a few days ago and offered this morning.”

“Wow.” I adjusted my hat. “Where is it?”

“Not far from here. Outside of town on about two and a half acres. So not a ton of land to manage, but enough for a couple horses and some animals. And it already has a barn.”

“The kids must be happy.”

“They are. They are.” She looked down at her boots. The snow fell slowly and softly around us.

“What about you?” I asked. “Are you happy?”

She smiled at me, but her eyes were glossy with tears. “I’m . . . I’m hopeful about the house. I’m glad my kids are excited. And I’m looking forward to moving out of my parents’ house, as much as I love them. But no, Henry. I’m not happy. I miss you.”

“I miss you too.”

She closed her eyes a second, took a breath. “But I have to put the kids first. And right now, they’re not ready for me to be in a relationship.”

“I understand.” I stared at the ground for a moment, letting the disappointment sink in. “So Whitney was that upset, huh?”

“Yes. A lot of it is my fault. The night she asked if we were dating, I could tell she was troubled by the idea of it. I could have spoken to her about it right then, been more open with her, but instead I lied to her to avoid a difficult conversation.” She shrugged and smiled sadly, a tear slipping down one cheek. “I didn’t want to face that what I was doing was wrong, because it felt too good. I was selfish.”

“That’s not being selfish, Sylvia. And you weren’t doing anything wrong.”

It was obvious she didn’t believe me. “Anyway, seeing us dancing and kissing made all her fears real, and she was very angry with me. She told me I was just like Brett.”

“You’re not,” I said firmly. “You know you’re not.”

She shook her head, fresh tears forming. “It doesn’t matter what the truth is, Henry. Her feelings are real. And scary. And she’s . . . she’s struggling to trust people right now.”

How could it not matter what the truth was? I didn’t fully understand what she meant by that. And there was something else . . . I wasn’t convinced Sylvia was talking only about Whitney here. She was scared too. Maybe hearing all of her daughter’s fears out loud had opened up the wound on her heart.

But I couldn’t help her heal if she wouldn’t let me.

“Tell me what to do, Sylvia. I feel terrible.”

She shook her head. “You shouldn’t. None of this was your fault. I should apologize to you—I led you to believe something more between us was possible, but . . . it isn’t, Henry. And I’m sorry.” A sob escaped her. Then another, and another. “I’m so sorry.”

I couldn’t stand it. Dropping the shears at my feet, I gathered her in my arms and held her, letting her cry on my shoulder. Feeling her body shudder with sadness was agony, but at least I didn’t feel so helpless. Comforting her gave me a purpose. “It’s okay. Shhh, it’s okay.”

“It’s not,” she wept. “I behaved terribly, coming after you like that. And I promised myself I wouldn’t embarrass myself by breaking down this way, yet here I am.”

“You didn’t behave terribly—I was a very willing participant. I won’t lie and say I’m not upset, but your kids are more important, Sylvia. If I had children, you bet your ass in a sequined skirt I’d put them first too.” I forced myself to make a joke, hoping it might make her smile.

She laughed a little, pulling back from me and wiping her eyes with her sleeve. “Thanks.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah. God, I’m so sick of crying. It feels like that’s all I’ve done for a year.”

“So let’s do something else,” I blurted, thinking fast. “Want me to put you to work?”