“Okay.”

My baby sister came to the rescue. When I called Frannie and told her what happened, hoping she might bring the girls over as a distraction, she offered to have my kids at her house for a sleepover.

“Are you sure?” I asked. “Both of them?”

“Yeah, why not? We’ve got the room—Whit can sleep with Millie, Winnie can bunk in with Felicity for the night, and Keaton can have Winnie’s room. Plus, it’s movie night tonight, and Mack got to choose, so it’ll be something Star Wars for sure. Doesn’t Keaton love Star Wars?”

“He’s obsessed,” I told her. “You’re the best. Should I feed them?”

“Nope, we’re ordering in. Just bring them over any time.”

The kids were excited about the sleepover and packed their bags right away. I was dismayed to see that Whitney came downstairs with a fresh application of makeup on, but I didn’t say anything. Maybe she was trying to cover up the fact that she’d been crying.

I dropped them off around six, giving Frannie an extra-long hug at the door before I left.

“You okay?” she said, looking at me anxiously.

“Me? I’m fine,” I told her, although it wasn’t entirely the truth. “It’s the kids I’m worried about. Did you see Whitney’s face?”

She glanced over her shoulder toward the noise. “I wondered about that.”

“I assume it’s some kind of armor. Maybe she feels like it protects her or something. Or it makes her feel tough.” I grimaced. “Hopefully she doesn’t ask to give Mack’s girls a makeover.”

Frannie waved a hand in the air. “It’s just makeup. I’m not worried.”

“I am.” I shook my head, fighting tears. “I feel like I don’t know what I’m doing. Like the decisions I’m making right now are going to affect my kids forever. One minute I’m confident about them, and the next I’m doubting everything. Was it right to move them here? I don’t know. Should I take the makeup away from Whitney? I don’t know. Should I play nicer with Brett so he doesn’t take it out on the kids to spite me? I don’t know. I’m a fucking mess, Frannie.”

“You’re not. You’re just worn out.” She squeezed my arm. “Take the night off from being Mom and do some things for you. Drink wine in the tub. Read a romance novel. Watch porn.”

That actually made me laugh. “I have never watched porn in my life.”

“Maybe you should.” Her eyes lit up. “Or play with toys—the adult kind.”

“I don’t own any.”

She shook her head. “Jeez, I thought I was sheltered. Now I know what to get you for your birthday.”

“Goodnight, Frannie.” I turned around and headed out. Snow was just starting to fall, heavy and thick. “Thanks again. I’ll pick them up in the morning.”

“No rush!” she called. “Drive carefully. I think we’re getting hit hard tonight. Like eight or nine inches.”

I spun around and walked backward a few feet. “Maybe you’re getting hit hard with nine inches tonight—I’m getting nothing!”

She burst out laughing. “Enjoy your evening anyway!”

When I got home, the house was empty. My parents had gone to have dinner with Oliver’s mom and dad, who were old friends of theirs, and wouldn’t be back until late. I puttered around the house, looking for things to do, but the kitchen was clean and the family room picked up and my mother liked to leave the Christmas decorations up at least through New Year’s Eve.

If the inn had been open, I might have wandered down to the bar for a glass of wine, but it was closed until Monday to give the staff some time off. I thought about calling April, but then I remembered she was having dinner with a high school friend who was in town for the holidays. Chloe and Oliver were also at his parents’ house, and Meg was surely with Noah tonight.

I thought about running a bath and relaxing in the tub with a book, but I felt too antsy. I didn’t really want to sit still. I didn’t really want time to think.

Laundry, I thought, getting pitifully excited at the idea of a Saturday night spent sorting and washing and folding. At least it would keep my hands busy. I grabbed a basket from the laundry room and brought it upstairs, collecting my dirty clothes before heading into Whitney’s room. She was fairly neat, like I was, and everything that needed to be washed was piled on a chair in the corner.

Keaton was a different story. His clothes were tossed all over the room. I was gathering them up when I noticed a bunch of crumbs on his unmade bed. Frowning, I lifted up his pillow, but nothing was hidden there. Kneeling on the floor, I bent down and checked under the bed. Nothing there either. When I stood up again, I pulled open the nightstand drawer—and found a pile of chocolate candy, a stash of Christmas cookies, and a ton of empty wrappers.

My anger at Brett flared all over again. This was all his fault and I had no idea how to deal with it. I didn’t want to have to deal with it. I didn’t want to spend another Saturday evening feeling like a terrible mother. I didn’t want to be living at my parents’ house at my age. I didn’t want to be alone tonight.

I wonder what Henry is doing.

Stop it, I told myself immediately. It doesn’t matter what he’s doing.

But what if he was still at work? If he was, would it be okay to go say hello? It had been three days. That was enough cooling time, right? Surely by now, we could have a conversation without being tempted to do stupid things. And that was all I needed—a conversation. Someone to talk to. Something to take my mind off things. Someone to reassure me I existed outside the realm of all my problems, to lift me out of this pit and make me forget.

Make me feel good. Make me feel beautiful. Make me feel sexy and desirable and feminine and alive.

Without giving myself any more time to think about it, I threw the laundry basket aside, raced downstairs, and put on my coat and boots. Maybe his truck won’t even be there, I thought as I hurried away from the house. The snow was thick beneath my feet. Maybe he’s already home for the night because of the blizzard. Maybe he’s even out with those other friends. It is Saturday night. Not everyone is sitting at home being lonely and miserable. I followed the path toward the winery, but I could see before I got too far that the parking lot was empty, covered in a pristine layer of white.

I stopped walking. My shoulders sagged, and my heart ached. Any hope I had of salvaging this evening was gone.

Or was it?

Turning around, a plan began to take shape in my mind. A wicked, reckless, irresponsible plan.

But I was none of those things. I was a good person. I could always be counted on to make the right decisions. I put others before myself. I was not the sort of person who went around acting on foolish impulses for the wrong reasons. And what I was thinking of doing was very, very foolish—more foolish than eight mimosas at Breakfast with Santa. It was greedy too. And it came with a much greater risk.

But once the idea was in my head, I couldn’t stop myself.

Ten

Henry

When I heard the knock, my gut told me it was her.