She laughed and shook her head. “Yeah, let’s save that for another day. I actually just came to invite you over to the house for dinner.”

I paused. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

I crossed my arms over my chest. “I don’t know. Are people going to think it’s strange?”

“What’s so strange about my inviting you for dinner? We’re friends, aren’t we? And if you happen to feel like helping Keaton set up his telescope, even better.”

“Aha.” I grinned at her. “So dinner is just a bribe, huh?”

She batted her thick, dark lashes at me. “Maybe.”

“I don’t mind helping with the telescope. You don’t have to feed me.”

“I like feeding you. And I’ve seen your fridge. It’s sad.” She wrinkled her nose. “I bet you were just going to eat takeout for dinner, right?”

“You know me too well.”

“It’s also an excuse to be with you again.” Her cheeks went a little more pink and her lips curved into a soft, sexy smile. “I think I’ve got a crush on my teacher.”

Our eyes met, and the small room crackled with electricity. “Then come sit on his lap.”

She came toward me, laying her coat on the desk. I took her by the hips and pulled her onto my lap so she straddled my legs, her arms around my neck.

“If I come to dinner, can we sit like this at the table?” I asked, sliding my hands over her ass. My dick perked up at the unexpected proximity to its new favorite place.

She laughed. “No.”

I pulled her close and whispered in her ear. “Then fuck dinner.” Then I moved my mouth down the warm curve of her neck. “Let’s go back to my house and get naked.”

“Mmm, that is very tempting. But I think I’d be missed.”

“Damn it.” I stroked her throat with my tongue, tasting her skin. “I suppose I could try to behave during dinner.”

“Does that mean you’ll come?” she asked hopefully.

I exhaled and sat up straight again, knowing there was no way I could say no to her. And I really didn’t mind helping her son with the telescope. “Okay. I’ll come.”

“Are you ready now? Or do you need more time to finish up?”

“I need about ten minutes to send a couple emails and get rid of my erection.”

Laughing, she got to her feet. “Then I better get off your lap. Chloe is still closing up the tasting room, so I’ll give her a hand. Meet me up there?”

“Perfect.”

She gave me one last smile and moved toward the doorway, where she stopped and stared at the door I’d had her up against last night. “I’m surprised this thing isn’t dented. I’ve got a bruise on my back, you know.”

“I’m sorry.”

Peeking back at me over one shoulder, she asked, “Are you really?”

Unable to suppress a grin, I shook my head. “No. But I’ll take it easier on you next time.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Don’t you dare.”

When I came upstairs, Chloe and Sylvia were chatting as they placed freshly washed and dried tasting glasses back on the shelves behind the counter.

“Are you coming to the party tomorrow night, Henry?” Chloe asked.

“I was planning on it,” I answered, pulling my coat on.

“You better,” Sylvia said. “I asked April to make sure we’re all at one table.”

“Is April bringing anyone?” Chloe asked, holding one last glass up to the light to make sure it was spotless.

“Not that I know of,” Sylvia answered. “She claims she’ll be too busy working to even sit down anyway.”

“That girl needs time off.” Chloe came out from behind the counter and headed for the employee room to grab her stuff. “She has no life.”

“I heard she’s interviewing someone after the holidays,” Sylvia said, picking up her coat from the back of a counter stool.

“I heard that too,” I said, taking the coat from her and holding it up so she could slip her arms in the sleeves. “It’s a friend of the owners at Abelard.”

Chloe came out of the break room, zipping her jacket, then slinging her bag over her shoulder. “Yes. Her name is Coco, and I’ve met her before. She’s perfect for the job. Let’s hope April realizes it.” When she looked up at us, she stopped short, as if surprised.

I took my hands off Sylvia’s coat.

“You sure you don’t want to come to Mom and Dad’s for dinner?” Sylvia asked, freeing her hair from her collar. “I convinced Henry to join us. And April’s coming over too.”

“Um, yeah. I’m sure. Oliver says he has dinner for us at home.” She was still looking at us a little strangely as she moved toward the door and switched off all the lights. “But I’ll see you guys in the morning. Have a good night.”

We went outside, and I locked the doors as Chloe trudged through the snowy parking lot toward her car. After making sure it started, Sylvia and I continued walking toward the house. Flurries fell slowly around us, and the night air was cold and silent.

“Did you have a chance to talk to Whitney yet?” I asked.

“No. I’m totally avoiding it.” She sighed, sticking her hands in her pockets. “I’m so bad. But I feel like as long as she’s spending time with the family and enjoying herself, that’s healthy, right? She had a smile on her face today—without the heavy makeup.”

“Sounds healthy to me.”

“Frannie gave me the name of a therapist Mack’s girls went to after their mom left. The office was closed by the time I called this afternoon, but I left a message, so hopefully she gets back to me fast.” She dragged her boots through the snow. “But still, I know I need to address the Instagram thing. Maybe I can do it later tonight.”

We went in the back door to the house, and as soon as we stepped into the mudroom off the kitchen, my mouth watered. “Wow, something smells good,” I said, shrugging off my jacket.

“Thanks. Hope you like Italian.”

“It’s my favorite.”

“Is it?” She took my coat and hung it on a hook before sitting on a bench to pull off her boots. “Good to know.”

“My parents were both Italian.” I took my boots off too, so I wouldn’t get the floor wet or dirty, and gave a quick prayer of thanks I was wearing new socks without any holes. “Neither was a hundred percent, but I’m more than half. I grew up eating a lot of Italian food.”

“Aha—so it’s in your blood.” She straightened my boots into a row along with everyone else’s. It was oddly touching somehow. “Sorry, it’s a mom thing. My kids just throw their stuff everywhere, and it drives me nuts. I’m surprised you didn’t learn to cook, having two Italian parents,” she said as we walked into the kitchen.

“Yeah, my mom tried to teach us. Didn’t work.” My eyes nearly bugged out at the sight of all the food on the island. “Is that lasagna?”

“Yes. One is vegetarian and one has meat. And there’s antipasto and Caesar salad and garlic bread, and it looks like my parents opened a bottle of red wine. Can I get you a glass?”