“Okay. But I can’t stay long.”

He lowered himself onto the couch opposite April, and I sat in between them. Keaton took the other end of the couch my mother was on and babbled excitedly about all the things he’d seen in the sky. The entire time, Henry seemed stiff and uncomfortable, and he barely touched his hot chocolate. If someone spoke to him directly, he replied, but other than that, he was silent.

After about ten minutes, he set his mug back on the tray and stood. “I really do need to get back. Thanks again for dinner.”

I rose to my feet and set my cup down too. “I’ll walk you out.”

“That’s not necessary,” he said.

“Goodnight, Henry,” called my mother from the couch. My father and April gave him a wave.

“Night.” Henry gave a wave to everyone. “See you all tomorrow.”

Despite what he’d said, I followed him to the mudroom, where we piled on all our cold-weather apparel in silence. I caught his eye once, and he shook his head like I was a hopeless case. The moment we stepped outside, he pulled me around the side of the house and wrapped me in his arms, crushing his lips to mine in the shadowy dark. Relief mingled with desire—I’d been a little worried that being around my family had made him too skittish. Like maybe he’d decided this was too much of a risk where his job was concerned and I wasn’t worth it.

His kiss tasted like chocolate, and he smelled like leather and winter and maybe a little like the oak barrels in the cellar. We stood in nearly a foot of snow, but I’d have stripped us both naked in a heartbeat just to feel his bare skin on mine. Our winter coats were cumbersome, our gloves annoying as we tried and failed to get close enough to satisfy the urge within us.

“Christ,” he muttered against my lips. “I’ve been telling myself all night I wouldn’t do this.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Because it’s not right. Your family is right inside. Your dad is my boss. And your daughter knows something is up.”

“You think?”

“Did you hear her asking me all those questions? And she was definitely giving me the side eye across the table.”

“She’s thirteen. Her face is always like that.”

“Still.” He took my face in his hands. “We need to be careful, Sylvia.”

“April knows,” I confessed. “And Frannie. Also, Chloe might have guessed.”

“Okay,” he said slowly, as if he were trying to process what that meant.

“I didn’t mean to betray your confidence,” I said quickly, “but I was just so excited, I had to tell someone. So I sort of told Frannie, but I made her promise not to tell Mack.”

“So how did April—”

“April just sort of guessed after seeing us together tonight. And Chloe must have gotten the idea after being around us at work.”

He was silent for a moment, but his jaw was set.

“Are you mad?” I asked. “I’m sorry. I know we said we were not going to take this public.”

He shook his head. “I’m not mad, Sylvia. I just don’t want your family thinking I’m taking advantage of you.”

“They don’t,” I protested. “My sisters are happy for me. And they know I’m not a child, Henry. I can take care of myself. I came to you, remember?”

“But you’ve said it yourself—you’re vulnerable right now, and from the outside, I’m worried this looks shady on my part.”

“Listen to me.” I put my hands on his chest. “I know what I said. But being with you is helping me get stronger. It’s making me happy. It’s nobody’s business but ours, right?”

He exhaled. “I’d like to think that. And I’m glad your sisters are happy, but what about your kids? I don’t like the idea of having to lie to them. And I’m not good at pretending to feel one way when I feel another. I wish . . . fuck. I don’t know what I wish.” He slid his arms around me again and rested his chin on the top of my head. “I wish we’d met sooner. Or later. I want things to be different.”

“I know.” Wrapping my arms around his waist, I pressed my cheek against his chest. “Our timing feels all wrong, doesn’t it?”

“It’s the only thing that feels wrong.”

We stood that way for another minute, until I began to shiver.

“Go on inside,” he said with gruff affection. “It’s freezing out here.”

I pulled back and looked at him. “I’m sorry about all this.”

“Don’t be sorry. Nothing is your fault.”

“But I made you come here tonight, and you felt uncomfortable.”

He didn’t deny it. “Maybe we just have to see each other in private from now on.”

I almost laughed. “Privacy is in short supply when you’re a single mom living with two kids and two parents.”

“Yeah. But at least you’ve got them. And family is what matters most.” He rubbed my arms and dropped a quick kiss on my lips. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

After going inside, I made myself go up and knock on Whitney’s door. I couldn’t put off this conversation any longer, as much as I was dreading it. Henry was right—family was what mattered most, and my kids needed me to be the parent with her head on straight. Or at least straightish.

“Yeah?” Whitney called, her voice muffled.

“Can I come in?”

“I guess.” She opened the door a moment later. “What?”

“I need to talk to you.” I entered the room and shut the door behind me.

“About what?”

I sat on the edge of the bed and looked at her heavily made-up eyes, penciled-in brows, and bright pink lips. Beneath it all I saw my baby-faced girl, and my heart ached for her. “About Instagram.”

Immediately I could tell she knew what I meant. She crossed her arms defensively. Stuck out her chin. “What about it?”

“I saw your profile.”

“So take my phone away. Is that what you came up here to do?”

I sighed, leaning back on my hands. “I don’t know, Whit. It doesn’t seem like that would solve the real problem.”

“What’s the real problem?”

“That you lied to me. You hid this from me. I wish you would have come to me and just been honest.”

“Why? You’d have said no. You always say no when I ask about that. You say no without even listening to my reasons.”

I hesitated. Was that true? Had I ever given her a chance to make a case, or had I just refused to consider it because I didn’t trust the rest of the world to treat my child with respect? Was that a parenting success, or was it a fail, because I wasn’t teaching her anything about the world or the way it views girls? Was I protecting her . . . or me?

“And you had an account,” she reminded me. “You posted all the time.”

“Okay, but I am an adult,” I reminded her, “and I’ve stopped posting because I realized how fake it all is. It was making me sad.”

“Well, it makes me happy,” she insisted. “I create a version of me I like better than the real thing.”