What I needed was for her to get out of my head, and spending more time with her—especially without other people around—wasn’t going to help whatsoever. But she looked so eager, I couldn’t bring myself to say no. “Uh, sure.”

Her face lit up. “Great! I’m excited. And it will be such a good distraction for me too.”

Distraction? How about the way she was crossing her legs toward me? Or the way her thick dark lashes framed those light blue eyes? Or the way her bare shoulders seemed to shimmer a little in the bar’s low light? My skin felt hot beneath my suit. My shirt felt too tight on my chest, and the crotch of my pants was definitely snug.

I downed the rest of my drink and set the empty glass on the bar. “Could I have another?” I asked the bartender, loosening the knot in my tie.

Sylvia laughed. “Is it the prospect of spending more time with me?”

That actually made me crack half a smile. “You have no idea.”

Sylvia and I pretty much hid out in the bar all night. Occasionally one of us would get up—I’d bring back a plate of food for us, she’d check on the kids—but mostly we just stayed on those two stools at the end of the bar, drinking whiskey and wine, pretending we were the only two people in the room, maybe even in the world.

We talked a lot about the vineyard, the upcoming season, what happens at the winery during the winter, but also about vineyards she’d visited in California and Europe. We’d been to some of the same ones in northern France, and I told her about how I’d adapted some of the techniques I’d learned from working the harvest there. She listened attentively and asked intelligent questions, and I knew she’d learn quickly.

“Did you ever think about going into the wine industry after college?” I asked her.

“Not back then.” She swirled the wine in her glass. “I was going to be a photojournalist.”

“Really?”

“I wanted to travel the world and tell stories with pictures,” she announced grandly, making a sweeping gesture with her hand.

I sipped my whiskey. “What happened?”

She sighed. “I got married. Had a family. I don’t regret it, because my kids are the best thing that ever happened to me, but I do sometimes miss that feeling of being creative.”

“Do you still take pictures?”

“Not too much anymore. Nothing artistic anyway. Mostly I took them for social media, so I could continue fooling everyone into thinking my life was perfect.” She shook her head. “So stupid.”

I’d seen her photos on social media, and they had made her life look impossibly perfect. But still, she had an eye for beauty. “You should get back into it. Even if it’s just to be creative.”

She smiled and laughed softly. “Thanks. Maybe I will.”

The hours flew by, and the more I talked to her, the more attracted I was to her. But Sylvia wasn’t the type to openly flirt, and I was careful to keep my words clean, even though my thoughts drifted. Her leg brushed against mine once or twice, which nearly made me lose my cool, but overall, there was nothing suggestive about either our conversation or our body language.

So when the party wound down and the bar was closing up, I was more than a little surprised when she asked if I’d like to come back to her house for one last drink.

“Don’t you have to put the kids to bed?” I asked.

“Yes, but then I have to wait for them to go to sleep, so I can play Santa.” She stifled a yawn. “If I can stay awake.”

“Ah. So my job is to make sure you don’t fall asleep?”

“Exactly. And to carry the heavy boxes in from the garage.” She laughed, squeezing my bicep through my suit coat. “I need those muscles. I don’t have any.”

“You’re going to get some, remember?” I said, growing hot under the collar at her touch. “You’re going to the gym.”

“That’s right.” She nodded defiantly. “Getting stronger is New Year’s resolution number one.”

“What’s number two?” I asked.

She thought for a second. “Find a way to be happy on my own. But I think they’re related, you know? I’m going to need strength—physical and emotional, to start over.”

I nodded slowly. “That’s true.”

“What about you?” she asked, getting to her feet. “Have you thought of any resolutions yet?”

“I’m not much for that stuff.”

“Well, I am. And I have one for you.” She lifted her chin.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes. You should look into adoption as a single dad.”

“I think you’ve had too much wine.” I got to my feet and adjusted my tie.

She laughed. “That’s entirely possible. Come on, it’s almost midnight. Let’s get the kids and sneak out of here.”

While Sylvia was putting her kids to bed, her parents came in. I was a little embarrassed to be standing there alone in the kitchen.

“Sylvia asked for help playing Santa,” I explained. “She’s getting the kids settled.”

“I don’t blame her,” said Daphne softly, pulling off her heels. “I wish I could stay up and play Santa again, but I’m plum worn out. Plus I want to get up early and make waffles for everyone. That’s what I always did Christmas morning for our kids.”

“I don’t mind staying,” I said.

“Can I pour you a drink?” asked John. But he looked just as exhausted as his wife.

“No, thanks. I’m fine.”

“In that case, I’ll head up too,” he said, yawning loudly. “Those parties are fun, but boy, they’re a lot of work.”

“It was a great party,” I said. “Thanks again for inviting me.”

“Merry Christmas, dear,” Daphne said on her way out of the kitchen. “If you’re not busy tomorrow, come for waffles.”

When I was alone again, I wandered into the family room. It was silent and dark, lit only by the Christmas tree in the corner. I switched on a lamp and went over to the built-in shelves lining the fireplace wall to study the framed photographs.

There was a wedding portrait of Mr. and Mrs. Sawyer and one of Mack and Frannie as well. Baby pictures of Keaton and Whitney. Graduation photos of all five Sawyer sisters. In addition, there were more informal pictures taken around the farm—three little blond girls swimming in the creek during the summer, a gap-toothed Chloe grinning down from a perch in a tree, April swinging tiny Frannie around by the hands with the vineyard in the background.

I heard a noise behind me and turned to see Sylvia coming into the room, still wearing her dress and heels, carrying two glasses of amber liquid. “Hey,” I said quietly, wishing more than anything I could reach out, put my hands on her hips, and pull her flush against me.

“Hey.” She smiled. “I’m glad you’re still here. Sorry it took so long—the kids made me recite The Night Before Christmas like I used to do when they were tiny.”

“You can recite it from memory?”

She shrugged. “One of my hidden talents. Here. I poured us a little scotch from my dad’s secret stash in the library. Don’t tell on me.”