Unbreakable (Cloverleigh Farms, #4)(77)

“It’s not right.” Her lower lip jutted as she smoothed the layer of frosting.

“No, it isn’t.”

“I feel sorry for that baby they’re having. Because it’s not like he’s ever going to change.”

I took a deep breath. “That’s hard to say. But I hope for the sake of that baby, he learns to love less selfishly.”

“Me too.”

I thought it was a good sign that she had empathy for Brett and Kimmy’s unborn child. Maybe I wasn’t totally fucking up this parenting thing. Grateful for my precocious, resilient, lovely daughter, I grabbed Whitney in a giant bear hug from behind.

“Mom, you’re choking me,” she complained.

“Sorry, honey,” I said, squeezing her tight. “But you’re just so huggable, I couldn’t resist. I love your big heart.”

“Okay, but can you please let me go?”

“Never.”

“Mom!”

“Okay, okay.” I released her. “Why don’t you go up to bed, sweetheart? I’ll clean up. We’ll cut them into squares in the morning, and then I’ll pack them in a box for you.”

“Okay. Thanks, Mom.” She wiped her hands on her jeans and headed for the hallway, then suddenly turned around and rushed into my arms, bursting into tears. “I’m sorry,” she bawled. “I don’t even know why I’m crying.”

I embraced her, stroking her hair and gently rocking her, although she was nearly as tall as me. “It’s okay, honey. Believe me, I get it. Happens to me all the time.”

“I just feel really bad all of a sudden.”

“You don’t have to explain it to me. Just let it out. I’m here, and I understand.”

She cried for a few minutes, then pulled back and wiped her nose on her sleeve. I pulled a tissue from the box on the counter and handed it to her. “Here. Use this, please.”

“Sorry.” She blew her nose and threw the tissue away before grabbing another one. She mopped up her eyes and was about to toss that one in the trash when someone knocked on the front door, making us look at each other in surprise.

“It’s after nine,” I said. “I wonder who that is.”

“Do I have to be seen?” Whitney looked scared that anyone might see her blotchy face. “I look hideous right now.”

“No, it’s okay,” I told her. “You go upstairs, and I’ll be up soon to say goodnight.”

She hurried into the front hall and scooted up the steps, and I waited for her to reach the top before I opened the front door.

It was Henry. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

Neither of us smiled.

“Chloe said you were sick.”

“I’m okay.” I forced myself to meet his eyes and realized he knew I was lying. “Actually, I’m not okay.”

Henry nodded. “Maybe we should talk.”

Resigned, I stepped back, dreading the next few minutes. “Come in.”

He stepped into the foyer, and I closed the door behind him. Then I stood in front of it with my arms crossed over my chest.

“What’s going on, Sylvia?”

“I . . . I don’t think I should work at the winery anymore.”

He pressed his lips together. “Why?”

Fighting tears, I told him the truth, like we’d promised each other we would. “Because I’m in love with you, Henry.”

He closed the distance between us and took me by the shoulders. “It isn’t going to matter where you work, Sylvia. Or where you live. I love you too. And I’ll wait for you. I’ll wait as long as it takes to prove to you that I’m not going anywhere—because you’re worth it. You’re worth everything.” Then his lips were on mine in a hot, commanding kiss that broke down all my defenses.

I threw my arms around his neck and felt myself being wrapped in his strong, safe arms and lifted right off the floor. For a full minute, I let myself be swept up in the feelings—in the release of my pent-up yearning for him, in the desire he ignited within me, in the blissful haze of hearing he loved me and wanted me and was willing to wait.

But I couldn’t let him.

“No, Henry.” Tearing my lips off his, I forced the words out, although I nearly choked on them. “Don’t wait for me.”

“Sylvia, please, can’t we—”

“No!” I pushed against his chest, and he set me on my feet, releasing me from his embrace. Unable to meet his eyes, I turned away from him and stared at the door. “We can’t go on like this, Henry. It’s too hard. I came racing over to the winery today so excited to see you, and when I got there, I was so desperate for you to put your arms around me and so sad when you didn’t.”

“I’d have given anything to be able to put my arms around you this morning,” he said quietly. “You have no idea how badly I wanted to. But I was trying to respect your wishes, Sylvia.”

“I know,” I whispered, failing to stop the tears from falling. “I know how unfair it is. And I’m sending mixed signals—even to myself.” I finally turned around again. “But I don’t want to be sad anymore, Henry. This is too hard.”

His eyes held so many emotions—love, heartache, frustration, pain. “Tell me what to do, and I’ll do it.”