As the kids climbed into the car, she looked over at me. For a moment, I couldn’t breathe. Were they telling her they’d seen me? What was she doing tonight? Had she been as lonely as I had the last couple weeks? Maybe she’d wave. But within seconds, she looked straight ahead again, and the SUV pulled away.

The next day, one of her kids came to see me at work—but not the one I was expecting.

I was avoiding the tasting room, which was crowded with guests staying at the inn for Valentine’s Day weekend. April was helping Chloe out today, and they’d assured me they didn’t need my help, so I was hiding out in my office. At the knock on my open door, I looked up and blinked.

“Whitney?”

“Hi,” she said, shoving her hands in her coat pockets.

“Hi.” I stood up and looked over her shoulder. “What can I do for you? Is Keaton looking for me?”

She shook her head. “No. I’m here by myself.”

“Oh.” I was totally baffled. “Is everything okay?”

“I’m not sure. Could I talk to you?”

“Of course. Come in.” I gestured to one of the chairs across from my desk.

She entered the office and perched uneasily on the edge of one seat. Her face was makeup-free, and it struck me how much she resembled her mom. “Aunt Chloe said you were down here. I walked over from the house.”

“Does your mother know you’re here?”

She shook her head. “I just told her I was going outside.”

“Oh.” I was even more confused. Clearing my throat, I sat down and closed my laptop. “What can I do for you?”

“I want to talk to you about my mom.”

My heart beat an erratic rhythm. “Okay.”

Her eyes dropped to her lap. “So, this is really embarrassing to admit, and I’m sorry, but I heard your conversation the night you came over a couple weeks ago.”

“Oh.” I shifted uncomfortably in my chair.

“I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, I swear.” Now her eyes met mine—they were sincere and worried. “But I couldn’t help it.”

“It’s okay,” I said, wanting to put her at ease. “I’m sorry if you were upset by anything you heard.”

She opened her mouth, closed it, squirmed in her seat, and took another breath. “Did you mean it? What you said? Do you really love my mom?”

For a moment, I was completely taken aback. But I recovered quickly and looked her right in the eye. “Yes, I meant it. Yes, I’m in love with your mom.”

“How do you know?”

“What?”

“How do you know you’re in love with her?”

At first I wasn’t sure how to answer the question—but then I pictured Sylvia, and the ache in my chest intensified. “Because when I think about her, my heart races. Because when she’s in the room, I can hardly breathe. Because I want to be with her all the time. Because I want to do things for her that make her smile. Because when she’s happy, I’m happy. Because she’s the first person in my head when I wake up, the last person I think about before I fall asleep, and the only person in the world who makes me feel like I’m the person I want to be.”

Whitney blinked. “Sheesh.”

I ran a hand through my hair, embarrassed. “I’m sorry if that upsets you, but I’m a person who believes in telling the truth.”

“I’m not upset. I want you to love her like that.”

“You do?”

“Yes. See, when I first saw you together, I was really worried, because of what my dad did. He just left us for this other woman, and it ruined our family. I feel like I don’t even know my dad anymore. I feel like I don’t even have a dad anymore, like he was just pretending to care all those years.”

“I’m sure that’s not true.” But I wanted to smash my fist in his face for making her think that.

“Maybe, maybe not. But anyway, the thought of losing my mom the way I lost my dad made me panic. I begged her not to be with you, because I thought you’d take her from us like Kimmy took my dad. And then we’d really be alone.”

I swallowed hard. “That’s understandable.”

“But she’s not my dad. She’s not my dad at all.” Whitney sat up straighter. “And I shouldn’t treat her that way. I shouldn’t take my anger at my dad out on my mom. I shouldn’t let my fears get in the way of my mom’s chance to be happy.”

I stared at her in disbelief, my jaw dropping. Was she really only thirteen years old?

She seemed to understand my shocked expression. “I’ve been going to therapy,” she said, as if that explained everything.

“Oh.”

“And it isn’t that my fears aren’t real—they are. But the sadness I feel when I hear my mom cry is worse.”

“You hear her cry?” A heavy weight settled on my chest.

Whitney nodded, her own eyes shining with tears. “Just about every night. Last night was awful. After we saw you at the gym, Keaton told us about how you’re going to help him with his science project, and my mom went to her room as soon as we got home. She turned on her television, but we heard her crying anyway.”

I stared at my hands on my lap. “It kills me to think of her so sad.”

“Us too. But I think I know why she was so upset. Our dad never did things like offer to help us with school projects. He bought a lot of fancy gifts, but that’s not always the answer.”

“No,” I agreed. “It isn’t.”

“But it’s not just about our dad. It’s because she wants to be with you. She says all she needs is me and Keaton to be happy, but I don’t believe her.” Whitney took a deep breath. “I was wrong to get in the way before, and I’m sorry. So I came here today to make sure you meant what you said about taking care of her, and protecting her.”

“I meant what I said.”

“Then you need to be with her. Because she loves you too.”

“It’s not that easy, Whitney. She sent me away, remember?”

“That’s because she was scared.”

“But I don’t know how to make her not scared,” I said, frustrated all over again. “I’m not good at this. I think I know what to say, and then it turns out to be the wrong thing. All I know how to do is be honest, and it backfired.”

“Can’t you try again?”

I didn’t answer right away. “I don’t know, Whitney. Maybe she’s just not ready for it.”

She stood up. “You know, you don’t sound like the Mr. DeSantis that knocked on the door that night.”

Looking up at her in surprise, I blinked. “I don’t?”

“No. That guy was a fighter.”

Our gazes held for a moment, then she spoke again.

“My mom deserves a fighter, Mr. DeSantis.”

I swallowed hard. “Yes, she does.”

A moment later, she turned for the door.

“Whitney, wait!”

She looked over one shoulder.

“It’s Henry. Call me Henry.”

A smile tipped up her lips, and then she was gone.