“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.