Unbreakable (Cloverleigh Farms, #4)(72)

But for what? She’d made her position clear, and I couldn’t argue with it. Nothing I said or did was going to change the fact that she couldn’t choose me, and I’d never ask her to.

Every time I thought about all the days and nights her dumb fuck of an ex had her and neglected or betrayed her, I wanted to go back in time and fucking punch his smug face at Mack’s wedding, maybe even flip the table first.

It wasn’t fair that an asshole like that won her heart, and I never even had a chance.

Would I ever?





Sylvia came to the winery almost every day, even if it was just for a few hours at a time. Sometimes she spent the time with me in the vineyard, or if we got too cold outside we’d go down to the cellar, where I’d teach her about the aging and blending processes. She also spent a good amount of time in the tasting room, where Chloe would coach her in tasting.

My favorite mornings were those we spent alone among the vines. We worked side by side in the cold, but she never once complained about the temperature. Sometimes she brought a thermos of hot chocolate, and we’d share it as we moved along the rows. She grew more confident with the shears, and while she worked, I’d make her repeat back to me the lessons she’d learned.

“We want to look for straight, clean wood starting low on the trunk,” she’d say. “We need to think three years ahead.”

“You know, you’re going to be better than me at this pretty soon,” I teased her.

“Hardly,” she said, laughing. “But thank you.”

Her offer on the new house had been accepted, and as we worked, she described it in more detail—a refurbished nineteenth-century farmhouse with four bedrooms, three baths, beautiful pine floors, a wood-burning fireplace, a big old gray barn, and her favorite, a weathered white picket fence. “It needs some updating,” she said, “especially in the kitchen and baths, but the bones of the house are strong and beautiful.”

“That’s all that matters,” I told her.

“Oh, I wanted to ask you where you found that bathtub at your house. I’d like to order one for the master bath.”

“Sure. I’ll get you the name of the site,” I said, trying not to picture her in the bathtub at my house. It was a struggle whenever I was with her to keep my hands to myself, but after that first day, I refrained from even hugging her. One, I wanted her to know I respected her boundaries, and two, knowing the way I felt about her, I was sure one thing would lead to another. If I hugged her, I’d want to kiss her. If I kissed her, I’d want to touch her. If I touched her, I’d want to get her naked.

I’d want to hear those sounds she made. I’d want to feel her hands on my skin and her tongue in my mouth and her warm, soft body arching beneath mine as I made her come again and again . . .

So no hugs.

But the hours we spent together were the best parts of my day. I loved getting to know her better, hearing about her childhood at Cloverleigh Farms, learning about her sisters as kids—who got in the most trouble (Chloe), who was the most spoiled (baby Frannie), who got the best grades (Meg).

“What about April?” I asked. “What was her thing?”

“April was always the caretaker,” Sylvia said. “So good with kids, always had the best babysitting jobs, always the first to jump up and help out someone in need. She really loves making people happy—that’s why I think she’s so good at weddings. She bends over backward to make sure brides get exactly what they want and takes care of every little detail.”

“And what about you?”

“Me?” She grinned. “I was a typical oldest child, I think. A bossy perfectionist. But also vain and boy-crazy as a teenager. I cared a lot about my hair and my eyeliner.”

I laughed. “At least you’re honest.”

She talked about her children too—how happy they were at their new school, the clubs they were joining (Keaton joined a science club, Whitney the ski club), the new friends they’d made. I hadn’t seen them since New Year’s Eve, but I knew Keaton had joined a youth boxing class at my gym because I saw his photo with a group of kids on the wall. It made me smile. I hoped he loved it like he thought he would.

“The kids had their first appointments with the new therapist last night,” she said one Thursday morning in mid-January. “And they loved her. I think she’s going to be really good for them.”

“That’s awesome,” I said, happy to see the genuine relief in her eyes.

I missed her like crazy when she took the kids skiing, but it was even worse when she flew back to California at the end of the month to pack up her old house.

She called me the third night she was there. It was so late I was already in bed, but I picked up right away when I saw it was her. “Hello?”

“Hi.”

I smiled and settled back against my pillow. “This is a nice surprise.”

“I’m sorry it’s so late. Did I wake you?”

“No, I was up,” I said aloud. Longing for you to be next to me in this bed again, I added in my head. “How’s it going?”

“It’s going okay. There’s a lot to do, and my ex is being a total dick, of course.”

“What’s he doing?”

“Nothing to help out, that’s for sure. I decided anything he doesn’t come to claim by tomorrow, I’m having hauled off to the Salvation Army along with my wedding dress, our good china, and his grandmother’s silver. Let him go try to find it and buy it back.”