He laughed and tipped up his glass. “Maybe you need to get laid.”

“You’re fucking telling me.”

“So go get laid.”

“It’s not that easy.”

He gave me a look of disbelief. “It’s not? I mean, it’s been a while since I’ve been out there, but I can’t imagine you would have trouble.”

“Maybe not if I just wanted to fuck the next willing woman.” I stared into my glass. “But I don’t.”

Lucas was quiet a moment. “Is there someone you have in mind who’s . . . not willing?”

“It’s complicated.”

He crossed an ankle over his knee. “Complicated is my favorite word. Go on.”

I took another sip, debating the wisdom of talking about Sylvia with Lucas. On one hand, it felt dangerous—like I was making my attraction to her more real or giving it more strength by speaking of it. On the other, Lucas was a good friend, he was smart about this stuff, and it might feel good to just say shit out loud. “It’s Sylvia Sawyer.”

“Ah.” Lucas took a drink. “Remind me. John’s oldest daughter, right? Married? Lives in California?”

“Right. She was married, for fifteen years. She’s recently divorced and is moving back here with her two kids. Her husband was a real dickhead. Left her for someone else, who’s already pregnant.”

“Fuck, that is shitty. She must have been devastated.”

“Yeah.” I finished what was in my glass. “She was really hurt, and coming home again is part of her effort to start over. I never knew her all that well before, but since she got home, we’ve been talking kind of a lot.”

“You guys probably have a lot to talk about.” Lucas reached for the bottle of scotch and poured me a couple more fingers.

“We do. That’s part of the problem. She’s really easy to talk to, and I find myself telling her things I don’t tell anybody. Talking about my marriage and the breakup and how I feel.” I shook my head. “She’s been home less than a week. It’s fucking ridiculous.”

“It’s not ridiculous. You’re comfortable with her, because you know she understands. You’re going through a similar—and difficult—life experience.”

“But it’s not just that.” I leaned forward, elbows on my knees. “She’s so damn beautiful. And sweet. And vulnerable. I always thought she was nice, but now I can’t stop thinking about her in ways that are . . . not nice. They are not nice at all. They’re downright filthy.”

Lucas chuckled. “It’s okay. You’re entitled to your own dirty thoughts.”

“Yeah, except last night I did more than just think.”

He paused. “What did you do?”

“I kissed her.”

“Against her will?”

“No. It wasn’t like that. But it was kind of . . . sudden. And even though we both wanted it, we know it’s too soon. She said she’s still healing, and she knows I am as well.”

“She sounds very smart and self-aware.”

“She is.” I frowned. “But it’s not her self-awareness I want to fuck.”

Lucas laughed, and I set my glass on the coffee table to bury my face in my hands. “God, I’m such an asshole. Tell me to leave this poor woman alone.”

“I can, but I don’t think you need me to. You’re not an asshole, Henry. You’re a guy who’s been really unhappy for a long time, and you’re lonely and angry and frustrated, but you’re not an asshole. You’d never do anything to hurt her.”

“I know, but . . .” I sat back again in defeat. “It just really sucks that assholes like her ex-husband get everything handed to them—the perfect wife, awesome kids, dream life—and they can just abandon it and start again. It’s so easy for them.”

“Because they’re narcissists. And they don’t care about anyone but themselves. She deserves better, Henry.”

“Yeah.” I grabbed my glass and took a drink.

“But she also deserves the time she needs to figure out who she is now and what she wants—and so do you. I think it’s smart to go slow in this situation. Be cautious. Maybe don’t put yourself in situations where you’re going to be tempted to do what you did last night.”

“Yeah.” I rubbed my chin. “She wants to work in the winery. She asked me to teach her.”

Without saying anything, Lucas leaned over and poured a little more scotch in my glass. “Fortitude, my friend.”

I lifted my glass. “Here’s hoping I have some.”

Nine

Sylvia

“So? What happened?” As soon as she got her coat off, April cornered me in Mack and Frannie’s living room, dropping down next to me on the couch.

“We talked,” I said, glancing around to make sure no one else could hear us. It seemed like we were safe. Our parents were helping Mack and Frannie with dinner, and the kids had been charged with setting the table. Chloe was at Oliver’s parents’ place, and Meg was at Noah’s mom’s house.

“I’m going to need more details, please.”

I lifted my shoulders. “He kept trying to apologize, but I told him it wasn’t necessary. He said it wouldn’t happen again, and I agreed that would be best. He stayed on his end of the couch, and I stayed on mine.”

“That’s it?” April looked a little disappointed. “Huh. I brought wine for nothing.”

“Well, what were you expecting to happen?”

“Honestly? More ass-grabbing.”

“I have to admit, I thought about it. I haven’t felt very desirable in the last year or so. And now all of a sudden to have someone telling me I’m beautiful and sexy and he wants me . . . it’s messing with my head. It feels so good to hear those things, I just want more. It’s like a drug.” I shrugged. “Maybe he feels that way too.”

“So you think it’s just a surface-level attraction kind of thing?”

“Who knows?” I tossed my hands in the air. “I really like him. He’s gorgeous and sensitive and smart, and the physical attraction is definitely strong. But I haven’t even been here a week. And we agreed that it’s not worth ruining what could be a nice friendship—not to mention that he works for our family. He feels totally weird about that, and I don’t blame him.”

April sighed. “Yeah. Me neither.”

“Plus, he said something else that I keep thinking about.” I played with the end of my loose French braid.

“What?”

“He said he doesn’t know what he wants. To me, that means he recognizes that whatever we’re feeling could just be a temporary physical thing and he might never want more than that.” I shook my head. “I can’t risk that. I can’t put myself in a situation where I might develop feelings for someone, and then it turns out he doesn’t want me that way. I just went through it, and it tore me apart.”

April put a hand on my leg. “Be right back. Grabbing that wine.”