Unbreakable Page 8

  No. Of course we weren’t. And that was a good thing.

  Because as intoxicating as it had felt to be thoroughly ravished by Henry tonight, I wasn’t ready for more. And given the way he’d hustled out of here tonight, muttering apologetic words—that won’t happen again—he wasn’t either.

  But damn.

  The man could kiss.

  * * *

  Christmas morning, the kids woke me up before eight, bubbling over with excitement because they’d peeked downstairs and it was clear that Santa knew they’d moved to Cloverleigh Farms—there were all kinds of presents under the tree for them. Even if they no longer believed, they faked it convincingly and enthusiastically, maybe even just for me. But it made me happy.

  Shoving my feet into fuzzy slippers, I threw on a robe and followed them downstairs, inhaling the smell of coffee brewing. My parents were in the kitchen, my mother mixing up waffle batter and my dad slicing bananas for a fruit salad. There was a fire going in the fireplace, and Bing Crosby crooned “White Christmas” over the speakers.

  “Morning,” I chirped, reaching into the cupboard for a coffee cup.

  “Morning, dear.” My mom smiled at me. “How’d you sleep?”

  “Great,” I lied. In truth, I’d lain awake for hours reliving that kiss—and the things Henry had said to me right before it. But I didn’t feel groggy or anything. In fact, I felt pretty damn good. He’d told me I was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Even if it wasn’t true, I’d loved hearing the words from his lips.

  My dad came over and mussed my hair. “It’s so good to have you guys here on Christmas morning. It’s been a while since we’ve had kids in the house.”

  “It’s good to be here, Daddy.” I kissed his cheek and poured myself some coffee, wondering what Henry was doing this morning. It made me feel sad to think of him all alone, especially since I knew now that he wanted children. His first Christmas on his own, without even a wife for company, was going to be hard, wasn’t it?

  The thought stayed with me as we drank coffee, watched the kids open presents, stuffed ourselves with waffles and eggs and bacon and fruit salad, and cleaned up piles of bows, boxes, and torn wrapping paper. But I wasn’t sure what to do about it—call him? Invite him over? I didn’t even have his number. And I had the feeling that even if I did, he’d refuse to come. He’d say he didn’t want to intrude on family time.

  Could I convince him he wouldn’t be an intrusion? Would he even want to come here? Maybe he just wanted to be left alone. Maybe it would just be awkward to be in the same room together today, after what we’d done last night. The thought made me sad—I didn’t want things to be awkward between us. Henry was the closest thing I had to a good friend here. I liked and respected him. He made me laugh. We understood each other.

  Had the kiss ruined everything?

  When the mess was cleaned up, I went upstairs, showered, and got dressed. Mack was due over with the girls around two, and my dad had promised to take everyone out in the new antique sleigh. We’d had plenty of snow overnight, and the whole farm looked magical, like something inside a snow globe.

  Once I was dressed, I told Keaton and Whitney to get upstairs and do the same, then told my mom I was going for a walk.

  “Want company?” she asked from the couch, where she was relaxing with another cup of coffee and a new paperback I’d gotten her.

  “No, that’s okay. I won’t be long—just need to burn off some calories before Christmas dinner.” It was partly the truth, but I also wanted to see if Henry’s truck was in the lot.

  “Sounds good. Bundle up,” she admonished, ever the mom.

  “I will.” After pulling on all my winter gear, I left the house and wandered down the brick path again, as I had the other night. But this time, Henry’s truck wasn’t there.

  I was both happy and sad—it was good that he wasn’t so miserable at home alone that he’d come into work on Christmas Day, but I also wanted to see him. I walked back home and asked my dad, who was helping Keaton unpack his telescope, if I could borrow his car.

  “Sure, honey. Keys are on a hook in the mudroom. Be careful—the roads are still slippery.”

  “Thanks, I will.” I ruffled Keaton’s hair. “I won’t be long.”

  “Okay,” he said. “Can we call Dad when you get back? I want to tell him what I got.”

  “You can call him whenever you want, buddy. But remember the time difference—it’s only about eight A.M. there right now. He might not be up yet.”

  “Okay.”

  Praying Brett wouldn’t ignore a call from his children on Christmas morning—but not putting it past him—I grabbed my dad’s car keys off the hook near the back door and headed out to the garage.

  While the car warmed up, I called April.

  “Hey,” she said after the first ring. “Merry Christmas.”

  “Merry Christmas.”

  “Did Santa come?”

  “He did. The kids are happy.”

  “I didn’t even see you before I left last night. Did you sneak off to get the presents under the tree?”

  “No, actually, I was in the bar most of the night talking to Henry. And then he walked back to the house with me and helped me get the gifts out after the kids went to bed.”

  “Aha. Interesting.”

  “It wasn’t like that,” I scolded, although actually, it was exactly like that.

  “I’m only teasing. You know I adore Henry and think you two should be friends.”

  “Yeah.” I bit my lip. “Speaking of that, you don’t happen to know his address, do you?”

  “I probably have it somewhere. Hold on.”

  I waited, trying to think up a good reason why I’d need his address right now and coming up short. Maybe I’d get lucky and she wouldn’t ask.

  Nope.

  Right after she recited it, she asked, “What do you need his address for?”

  Sighing, I decided to be honest—or close to it. “Because I feel weird about something that happened last night, and I think he might too. And I don’t really want to deal with it over the phone, not that I even have his number.”

  April was silent for a moment. “What happened last night?”

  I hesitated.

  “Sylvia, you cannot do this to me. What happened?”

  “Okay, okay.” I took a breath. “He kissed me. We kissed.”

  Her gasp was audible. “You said it wasn’t like that! And wait, those are two different things. He kissed you? Or you simultaneously kissed each other?”

  “What difference does it make?”

  “You’re not seriously asking me that, are you? It’s a huge difference! Who made the move?”

  “He did.”

  April squealed so loud I had to hold the phone away from my ear. “Details!”

  “There aren’t that many. We were standing in the dark next to the tree, and he said something really sweet, and then the next thing I knew, he kissed me.”

  “Did you kiss him back?”

  “Um, yes. Very enthusiastically. I’m actually a little embarrassed at how enthusiastically I kissed him back.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I totally grabbed his ass.”

  Another squeal, possibly louder than the first. “So what happened after that?”

  I closed my eyes and shook my head. “Grandma Sawyer’s clock on the mantel went off and scared the shit out of us.”

  “No!”

  “Yep. We jumped apart, he apologized, and then he practically bolted out the door.”

  “God, it’s like Cinderella! The clock struck midnight, and the spell was broken.”

  “Pretty much.”

  “So what are you going to say to him today?”

  “I don’t even know exactly what yet—I just feel like something needs to be said. I don’t want things to be awkward between us. We’ve gotten to know each other so much better over the last few days, and I really do want to be friends.”

  “
And there’s no chance you could be more?”

  “No way. Not right now. I have so many other things I need to focus on—finding a house, a job, getting the kids settled . . . and the thought of starting up a relationship again absolutely terrifies me. Not just with Henry, with anyone.”

  She sighed. “I get it.”

  “I agree he is a great guy, and very attractive, and such a good kisser, but I need to keep my head on straight and my feet on the ground.”

  “God, you’re so mature and responsible. Anyone else would be like, ‘Give me all the hot rebound sex right now!’”

  Laughing, I put the car in drive. “Yeah, that is not my style. But I better go. I have to be back by noon.”

  “Okay. I’ll see you at Mack and Frannie’s for dinner.”

  “Bring wine. And wish me luck!”

  * * *

  Fifteen minutes later, I found Henry’s house without a problem and pulled into his driveway. For a moment I sat in the car and looked at his house—a brick ranch with an attached garage, black shutters, and a bay window in the front. I wondered about the first time he and his ex had pulled up in front of it. Was it their dream house? Had they imagined the rest of their lives here? Did Henry plan to stay here by himself? If so, would he eventually remarry and try again to have a family? Or would he change his mind and maybe attempt to adopt?

  It’s none of your business, Sylvia. You’ve got your own life to put back together—Henry isn’t your next good cause. He’s a grown man, and when he’s ready to move on, he will. Just go in there and make sure he knows you’re still his friend.

  Turning off the engine, I got out of the car and hurried onto the front porch. After a deep breath, I knocked a few times on the thick wooden front door, which was painted black to match the shutters.

  Henry pulled it open, looking rugged, rumpled, and sexy in jeans and a black T-shirt with a hole in the sleeve. His feet were bare and his hair was damp, like he’d just gotten dressed after a shower. His expression told me he was surprised to see me. “Sylvia. Hi.”

  “Hi. Can I come in?”

  “Of course.” He swung the door open wide, and I stepped into the front hall. Right away I could smell coffee brewing and the scent of burning wood.

  I glanced around. To my left was an office, and to my right was the dining room. Straight ahead appeared to be a family room, where a fire was lit in the fireplace. From what I could see, the house had oak floors throughout, so I took off my snowy boots and left them on a rug that said WELCOME.

  Henry shut the door behind me and messed with his hair a little. “I’ll take your coat—glad to see you’re actually wearing one.”

  I laughed and shrugged it off. “Thanks.”

  After hanging up my jacket in the front hall closet, he turned to me. “Can I get you something? Coffee or tea?”

  “Coffee sounds good.” I followed him back into the family room, which opened onto a kitchen and breakfast nook on one side, and possibly the master bedroom on the other. “I like your house. It’s got a nice open feel.”

  “Thanks.” He went into the kitchen and took a white mug with the green Cloverleigh Farms logo on it from the cupboard. “We did some pretty extensive renovations when we bought it.”

  I glanced around. “No Christmas tree, huh?”

  “I decided not to bother this year. I’m really not home that much anyway.” He poured me a cup of coffee from the pot. “I’m sorry, I don’t have cream, but would you like sugar?”

  “Just a little, thanks.”

  “Go ahead and sit down. I’ll bring it to you.”

  I wandered over to the dark brown leather sectional and lowered myself at one end, facing the fireplace. Looking around, Henry’s house seemed just like him—the decor was rustic in a masculine way, but beautiful too, with touches here and there suggesting he liked the occasional luxury. On the coffee table in front of me were several oversized hardcover books on wine. The mantel was made from what might have been reclaimed wood, and upon it were a few black and white photographs, a pair of wrought-iron candlesticks, a stack of old books, and a small plant. Actually, there were several plants around the room. The wall to my left was all wooden shelves—his television was mounted in the middle, and the rest were filled with books, framed photos, and what looked like mementos from his travels.

  I wanted to study them all and ask about them—where had he gotten that old map? What place in the world did he love best? Did he like vineyards more than beaches? Did he like upscale hotels in the city or small cabins in the mountains? Was he an ocean or lake person? Did he prefer snow skiing or water skiing? If he had all the money in the world, would he still live here and do what he did?

  On the other end of the couch was a chunky double-knit throw blanket in a soft camel color, and I wondered if someone had made it for him. For a moment, I let myself imagine the two of us on a wintry afternoon like this one, wrapped up in it and each other, right here on the couch. I missed that feeling of just being close to someone, that effortless, easy affection. Would I ever feel that again?

  A moment later, Henry came over with two cups of coffee and handed one to me. “Here you go. Let me know if you’d like it sweeter.”

  “I’m sure it’s fine.” I sipped it, scorched my tongue, and suffered silently, totally unsure how to start this conversation. I was having trouble focusing on why I’d come here—all I could think about was his body pressed close to mine in the dark. “So you’re probably wondering why I’m here.”

  He lowered himself onto the opposite end of the couch, as far away from me as possible. “I’ve got a pretty good idea.”

  I took another scalding sip. “I thought maybe we should talk about what happened last night.”

  His expression was something between a frown and a grimace. “I’m sorry about that. It was totally out of line.”

  “Henry, it wasn’t.”

  “Yes, it was, and I’ve been kicking myself for it ever since I left your house.”

  “Please don’t.” I set my coffee cup on the table in front of me and scooted closer to him. I put a hand on his arm—his skin was warm. “It’s okay. You don’t need to be sorry. I’m not.”

  “You’re not?”

  “No.” I sat back. “Do you know how long it’s been since someone kissed me that way?”

  He shook his head, almost looking frightened to know the answer.

  “A really long time. And it felt good. So good I didn’t want it to end.” For a split second, I almost thought he was going to smile.

  “I still shouldn’t have done it.” The frown was unyielding. “I work for your family. You’re going through a rough time. I don’t know what I want.”

  “Because it’s too soon to know that, Henry.” I sat back, placing my hands in my lap. “You and I, we’re still healing. And that’s okay. But for me, part of that healing process means learning to feel good in my skin again. You made me feel beautiful and sexy and desirable.”

  “You are all of those things,” he said quickly.

  I smiled, warmth humming beneath my skin. “You are too.”

  He gave me a look like he was in pain. “Jesus Christ, Sylvia. You shouldn’t say that stuff to me.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it puts ideas in my head.”

  “Ideas aren’t going to hurt us. And I trust you to behave.”

  “Maybe you shouldn’t do that either.”

  “I can’t help it.” I smiled, in spite of everything. “You know I tend to trust everyone. And if you turn out to be a giant asshole, I’ll be mad. But my heart is telling me you are not that guy.”

  He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, messing his hair. “I’m not that guy. I just . . . lost control temporarily. But like I said, it won’t happen again.”

  “But we can still be friends, right?”

  “I guess so.” He didn’t look entirely sure.

  “I hope so, Henry.” I leaned forward again, placing my hand on his leg this
time. “Because I could use a friend like you.”

  His eyes were on my hand. “Okay, but you really have to stop touching me.”

  I laughed and took my hand off him. “I can do that.”

  “And don’t wear that red dress around me again.”

  “Deal.”

  “And maybe not that perfume either.” He inhaled a shuddering breath. “It smells too fucking good.”

  I held up both hands, palms toward him. “I will keep my hands to myself, wear only rags, and stick to unscented soap. Does that work?” But my toes were tingling—he liked my dress! He liked my perfume! He was tempted when I touched him!

  I felt like the girl who gets the note back to find the “yes” box was checked—he liked me!

  “Could you wear a bag over your head too?” he asked.

  I laughed. “You know, you don’t make it easy, either.”

  “I don’t?”

  I shook my head. “No, you are too handsome and too smart, and every time you do something like give me your coat or tell me I’m beautiful, it makes me melt.”

  “That’s why I want you to wear the bag. If I can’t see how beautiful you are, maybe I’ll forget.”

  Heat crept into my cheeks as I smiled at him. “You did it again.”

  “I’d say I was sorry, but you know I’m not much of a liar.”

  “I know.” I moved back to my end of the couch and picked up my coffee, which was now cool enough to drink. “I like that about you—your honesty. I’ve heard enough lies to last my entire life.”

  He sipped his coffee too, and I figured maybe now was a good time to move forward. Try to get to a place of normalcy, a place where we could converse without feeling nervous or awkward.

  “Thanks again for helping me with the gifts last night,” I said. “The kids were thrilled this morning.”

  “I was glad to help. Did Keaton like his telescope?”

  I nodded. “He’s all excited to set it up.”

  “And how about Whitney? What was her favorite gift?”