Unbreakable Read online

  “Hey,” she said quietly. “I know you don’t find big social gatherings much fun these days. I don’t either, and I will totally understand if you’d rather go home. But I had a really nice time talking with you last night, and—” She stopped.

  “And what?”

  She lifted her shoulders. “I guess that’s it. I had a really nice time talking with you last night.” Then she began shimmying out of my coat. “Look, don’t worry about dinner. It’s totally understandable that you’d rather be alone, and I didn’t mean to—”

  “Sylvia.” I grabbed the sleeves of my Carhartt on her upper arms before she got it off, effectively trapping her. “I don’t want to be alone tonight. It’s not that.”

  “So what is it?”

  “I just . . .” But how was I supposed to finish the sentence? I just think you’re too beautiful? I just can’t stop thinking about kissing you? I just had this dream about you last night that made me come so hard, I don’t trust myself alone with you, and would you mind stepping over here beneath the riesling spigot so I can show you what I did?

  She was completely still and looking at me like she was half hopeful, half scared.

  For a few crazy seconds, I thought, Fuck it. Just kiss her.

  Suddenly the door to the winery flew open. “Hey! You guys coming or what?” It was April, bundled up properly in a long puffy jacket. “Mom sent me to come find you.”

  Letting go of Sylvia, I stepped back and tried to breathe normally.

  “He’s giving me a hard time,” Sylvia said. But her voice shook a little.

  “Screw that.” April pointed at me. “You’re coming to dinner, Henry. It’s Christmas.”

  I gave up the fight. “Okay, but I need to run home to shower.”

  “Take your time,” April said. “We’re not going anywhere. Mack and Frannie and the kids just got there, and Chloe and Oliver haven’t even arrived yet. Meg and Noah are running late too.”

  “What can I bring?” I asked her.

  April shook her head. “Nothing, just come.”

  I wouldn’t show up empty-handed, but I could worry about that later. “Okay, I’ll see you in a little bit.”

  “Good,” April said. “Coming, Syl?”

  “Yes.” She started to remove my Carhartt again, but I reached out and stopped her.

  “Wear it. It’s too cold for you to be out there without a coat.”

  Her face flushed as she zipped it up. “Okay. Thanks. See you in a little bit.”

  I watched them walk out and wondered if it was normal to feel like a fifteen-year-old boy in a grown man’s body. Hormones I’d forgotten I had were surging through my veins, and my heart was beating way too fast. She was so fucking pretty.

  It’s fine, I told myself as I got ready to go. It’s normal. It’s a biological response. She’s a beautiful woman paying a lot of attention to you, and you haven’t had sex in a really long time.

  But letting her wear my coat was as far as this could go.

  Five

  Sylvia

  Henry’s jacket was thick and warm and smelled really good—not like fancy cologne or aftershave—but something earthy and wintry and masculine. I’d smelled the same scent last night, standing close to him in the winery. As I walked, I dipped my chin deeper inside the collar and inhaled deeply.

  “What are you doing?” April asked.

  “Nothing.”

  “Um, it looked to me like you were sniffing Henry’s coat.”

  “What? That’s ridiculous.”

  “Really? Because it also looked like something was going on between you two just now in the tasting room.”

  My stomach hollowed. “Like what?”

  “I don’t know. It seemed like I was interrupting something.”

  “That’s even more ridiculous.”

  But was it?

  Ever since Henry had walked me home last night, he’d been on my mind. Not in an obscene way or anything, just . . . there. I’d had such a nice time with him. I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d talked so openly and easily with someone, let alone a man. Brett was a talker, of course, but it was always totally superficial. And if I tried to steer the conversation somewhere deeper and more meaningful, if I tried to hint at the fears I had that our marriage was coming apart at the seams, or ask him how he was feeling, he would just change the subject. After a while, he wouldn’t even look me in the eye.

  Henry had looked right at me. Listened to me. Made me feel heard and understood. Plus, he was smart and passionate about what he did, and he was really hot. I don’t know how I hadn’t noticed it before. He was like a cross between a rugged outdoorsman and a sexy professor, right at home in jeans and boots with dirt on his hands, but intelligent and articulate and sensitive too. I’d almost died when he told me to let the wine warm up on my tongue—it was probably an innocent, wine-industry kind of thing to say, but it made me hot all over.

  I wondered what he thought of me. Did he find me attractive?

  God, it was such a juvenile thought—Do you like me? Check yes or no—but I had to admit, part of me hoped he did, even if nothing could come of it. It had been a long time since I’d felt beautiful in a man’s eyes.

  “What’s so ridiculous about it?” April challenged. “Henry is very handsome.”

  “He is,” I agreed carefully.

  “He’s also a great guy. And you’ve both been through a lot.”

  “That’s just it,” I said. “It’s way too soon to even think about . . . moving on. My divorce is barely final.”

  “Doesn’t seem to be holding Brett back,” April observed wryly. “And I’m not saying you need to marry Henry. Just get to know each other better, especially since you’re moving here. Be his friend. There’s no harm in that, is there?”

  “No,” I admitted.

  “That’s all I meant.”

  We walked up the steps of the front porch, and I thought of what Henry had said to me last night.

  I can give in to a woman.

  I shivered inside his coat. He hadn’t said it salaciously or even flirtatiously, but something about the words themselves or maybe the quiet, serious way he’d delivered them had made my rusty, out-of-use core muscles clench up tight.

  And April wasn’t entirely imagining things, of course—there had been a moment there in the winery when I’d had this crazy feeling Henry might try to kiss me. What was even crazier was that I’d kind of hoped he would, even though I didn’t think I was ready for it, and something told me he wasn’t either.

  But I’d wanted it.

  Hell yes, I’d wanted it.

  * * *

  Inside the house, it was noisy and chaotic—everyone had arrived, the dining room table was laden with platters and bowls and chafing dishes, Christmas carols were playing on wireless speakers, a fire roared in the fireplace, five kids were running in circles, and everyone was in a good mood. It made me so happy to see Keaton and Whitney enjoying themselves, I didn’t even care that their dinner would probably consist of cookies, chocolate, and candy canes. The adults poured drinks, filled plates, and sat around in the great room addition off the back of the house, eating and sipping and catching up. It felt so good to be surrounded by family again, it nearly put a lump in my throat.

  Taking my plate over to the couch, I sat down and chatted with Meg and Noah about getting involved with a charity they loved, since I’d been on the board of several philanthropies in the past and had experience with fundraising and special events. At the bar, I spoke with Mack about the schools my kids would be attending, got the scoop on the administrators and teachers he liked and disliked. Back in the great room, I took a seat near my dad and asked him if he had ideas about neighborhoods to search for houses in, what the prices and taxes might be like, whether or not I should use an agent or do it on my own. Chloe asked if I had any time to help out in the tasting room next week, since the inn would be booked and she was short-staffed while employees were on vacation. I told her I’d
be glad to.

  My appetite was good, and I was back at the table for seconds of dessert when I heard a knock on the front door. My stomach jumped, and I quickly checked my sweater for spills and rubbed my lips together, hoping they still had a little color. Setting my plate aside, I went to answer it.

  When I pulled the door open, I wasn’t prepared for the way my body reacted. At the sight of Henry freshly scrubbed, hair neatly groomed, scruff trimmed, wearing a dark wool peacoat and holding a bottle of wine, my face warmed and my pulse zoomed.

  “Hi,” he said, his breath cloudy in the cold air.

  “Hi. Come on in.” I moved aside so he could come into the house and caught the scent of his cologne as he passed by. My dormant lady parts tightened. “Can I take your coat? I promise to give it back—along with your other one—when you go.”

  “Sure.” He stomped the snow from his boots and handed me the bottle of wine. “That’s for you.”

  “Thanks.” Setting it on the hall table momentarily, I hung up his coat in the closet and turned to face him. He wore a thin charcoal-colored sweater over a navy dress shirt and dark jeans. “You look nice.”

  “Thanks. I figured I’d wear a shirt with no holes this time. Try not to look like a hungry college student.” He looked at my angora sweater, skinny dress jeans, and high-heeled boots. “You look nice too.”

  “Thank you.” Grabbing the bottle of wine he’d brought, I glanced toward the back of the house, where all the noise was coming from. “Ready?”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  Smiling, I took his arm. “No. But I’ll stay with you, and I promise it’s going to be fine. Come on.”

  If Henry was anxious walking into a room full of people, he didn’t show it. Of course, it helped that the only people there were my family members and their significant others, and everyone knew not to ask about Renee or say anything that might make him feel uncomfortable. He seemed right at home hanging out with Mack, chatting with Oliver about progress at the distillery, laughing with Chloe about some obnoxious wine industry asshole who’d toured the vineyard and cellar last week and had all kinds of opinions on why Henry’s preferred sorting method was a waste of time. And he gobbled three full plates of food like he hadn’t had a decent meal in ages.

  Later, he joined me, Chloe and Oliver, Mack and Frannie, and all five kids in a competitive game of Hedbanz, and I was surprised at how easily he interacted with both Mack’s girls and my two children. He seemed to really enjoy playing the game and went out of his way to make them laugh. It made me wonder if he’d ever wanted kids.

  After the game, while he talked with my dad about the upcoming growth season over cups of coffee laced with Irish whiskey and topped with cream, I helped my mother and April clean up the kitchen. By then, Mack and Frannie had taken their kids home, my kids had gone up to their bedrooms, and Meg and Noah had disappeared without even saying goodbye.

  “They’ve probably banged like five times already,” April whispered as we dumped leftovers into plastic containers.

  I groaned. “Stop. It was torture watching them all night. They can barely keep their hands off each other.”

  “I know. And you should hear her stories about the sex.” April shook her head. “It’s insane. Like, handcuffs insane.”

  “I’ve heard some of them.” I glanced at my mom to make sure she couldn’t hear us. “I’m actually kind of jealous. I’ve never done anything like that. Have you?”

  “Nope. Where do you even find guys like that—good guys who’ll treat you right but have that alpha male attitude behind a closed door? Is it a law enforcement thing? Maybe I should start hanging around the fire station.”

  I shook my head. “I have no idea. I really don’t. In my experience, it’s been one or the other—or neither.”

  When the leftovers had been put away and the dishwasher started, April yawned and asked if it was okay for her to take off.

  “Of course,” my mother said. “I can handle the rest.”

  “I’ll help you, Mom,” I said. The only thing left to do was the serving pieces, which had to be done by hand. “I’ll wash and you can dry.”

  “Thanks, honey.”

  We said goodnight to April and got started, the conversation in the family room carrying over the quiet hum of the dishwasher now that the music had been turned off. I heard Henry’s deep voice and glanced over my shoulder. He was sitting on the couch opposite my father, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, like he was listening really intently.

  I smiled and turned back to the sink. “Henry’s so into his vines. It’s cute.”

  My mother glanced at me. “He is. Into his vines and cute.”

  I wondered if I’d gone too far, so I bit my lip instead of asking what I really wanted to know—what was his wife really like? Had their marriage been that bad? Why didn’t they ever have kids?

  My mother helped me out. “It’s so nice to see him enjoying himself,” she said. “He’s been so down the past few months.”

  “Well, divorce will do that.”

  “Yes. It was nice to see you enjoying yourself too. Did you have fun?”

  “Yes,” I said. “My favorite part was seeing the kids having a good time. They really get along well with Mack’s girls.”

  “Mack’s girls are darling.”

  “I hope Keaton makes a few guy friends here too.”

  “He will. As soon as school starts, I’m sure he’ll have no trouble.”

  I scrubbed the bottom of a sauté pan. “I worry about him, not having a father around. I mean, I worry about both of them not having a father around. But then I remember what kind of man Brett turned out to be, and I think maybe it’s better to have no male influence than that.”

  “They’ll have plenty of healthy male influence around here,” my mother assured me. “Your dad, Mack, Henry. Oliver and Noah are around a lot too.”

  I saw the opening and took it. “Henry does seem great with kids. I wonder why they never had any.”

  My mother was silent for a minute, and I figured maybe she didn’t know. But after I handed her the pan for drying, she spoke up, a little quieter than before. “They tried for years,” she said. “That was part of the problem. Renee had endometriosis, so they were hoping IVF would work, but it didn’t.”

  “Oh no.” Immediately, I understood their situation better. I, too, had struggled to get pregnant. After a couple years of being unsuccessful spontaneously, we’d turned to IVF and gotten lucky twice.

  I knew how grueling the experience could be. And I knew the toll it could take on a woman’s psyche, on her body, and on a marriage. I suddenly felt sorry for Henry’s ex—I could empathize with her. I felt awful for Henry too.

  “That’s so hard,” I said. “Is that why the marriage fell apart?”

  “I never asked, but I think it had a lot to do with it.” She took a platter from my hands and began drying it. “I only know what I know because Renee confided in me a little. I’ve never said a word to Henry about it.”

  “I won’t either,” I promised.

  My mother changed the subject to tomorrow night’s party, fretting about the endless to-do list she had. As we finished the washing and drying, I assured her I’d be around to help. “In the morning, just give me a list of things I can do. And don’t worry, it’s going to be a fantastic party. It always is.”

  As we were putting the dishes we’d washed into the cupboards, Chloe and Oliver came through the kitchen to say goodnight. After they’d gone, my mother wiped her brow and fanned her face. “Darn these hot flashes. I may need to go up to my room and put the fan on.”

  I smiled and grabbed the sponge to wipe down the counters. “Go ahead. I’ll finish up.”

  “Thank you, dear.” She poked her head into the family room and said goodnight before going upstairs, and a moment later, Henry and my dad came into the kitchen with empty cups.

  “Well, I guess I’ll head up to bed too.” My father set his coffee mug in the
sink and kissed my head. “The fire is almost out in there. Are you going to be up for a bit or should I take care of it?”

  “I’ll take care of it. Night, Daddy.”

  “See you, John,” Henry said. “Thanks for everything.”

  My father gave us a wave and headed for the stairs, and then it was just Henry and me left in the kitchen. “Glad you came?” I asked him.

  “Definitely.” He came around the island and set his glass mug on the counter. “Everything was delicious. Thank you so much for coming to get me. I’d have gone home and eaten Fritos for dinner.”

  I grinned and shook my head. “How can you be so picky about wine and eat such terrible food?”

  “Good question. Probably because I’m good at making wine but bad at making food.”

  I smiled, turning off the faucet. “Want a little more coffee? There’s probably half a pot left.”

  He hesitated. “Are you going to have some?”

  “Sure. Grab the whiskey from the bar, would you?”

  While he retrieved the whiskey bottle, I poured us each a mug of coffee. He added a shot to each glass, and I spooned some of the leftover whipped cream on top. “There. Perfect.”

  “Do you want to sit down?” he asked, glancing down at my shoes. “You’ve been working in here for a while.”

  “Definitely. Let’s go into the family room.”

  The fire was low but still crackled in the fireplace, giving the room a cozy glow. I took a seat at one end of the couch, and Henry settled at the other end.

  Tugging off my boots, I tucked my legs beneath me. “Looks like it’s still coming down out there,” I said, glancing out the sliding glass doors toward the patio. “But I like having a white Christmas.”

  “Me too,” he said, sipping his coffee. “You must have missed that in California.”

  “Well, we usually spent the holidays in Aspen if we didn’t come here.” I felt embarrassed saying it. It sounded so pretentious to me now.