“You look just beautiful to me.” She smiled and went back to work.

We got the dishwasher loaded and running just as the first batch came out of the oven. I grabbed the bowl of dough from the fridge. “Want me to put in a second batch?”

“No, no,” she insisted, shooing me out of the kitchen. “You’ve had a long day. Go watch the movie or curl up with a book and a cup of tea somewhere.”

“Thanks.” But I didn’t really feel like watching a movie or reading a book. After a long day of sitting on planes and then stuffing my face with pizza, I felt like I needed a little exercise. “Actually, I think I might take a walk. Get some fresh air.”

“Okay, sweetheart. Dress warmly.”

“I will.” From the closet in the front hall, I grabbed my winter coat, zipping it all the way up. I tied a scarf around my neck, and tugged on a hat, my snow boots, and mittens. Then I slipped out the front door, pulling it shut behind me.

The air was bracingly cold, but I didn’t mind. I shoved my hands into my pockets and followed the snow-kissed brick path around the back of the house, past the old red barn and the stables, past the new white barn that served as a wedding reception venue, and over toward the winery and vineyard.

Right away I saw the pickup truck in the winery’s parking lot, and I assumed it was Henry’s. I hadn’t brought my phone with me, but I knew it had to be almost ten o’clock. What was he still doing here this late? I recalled what April had said and wondered if he could use a friend.

Moving a little quicker, I followed the path to the winery door. Lights were on inside, but the double doors were locked. I pressed my face to the glass and peered into the tasting room, but I didn’t see anyone, so I knocked a few times. No one answered. I knocked again, a little louder.

Five seconds later, Henry appeared, a confused expression on his face as he crossed the tasting room floor from the direction of the cellar, peering out the window. When he saw me, he hurried to the doors, unlocked them, and pushed one open. “Sylvia?”

“Hi, Henry.”

“Come on in.”

“Thanks. It’s freezing out there.” I moved inside the bright, open space, grateful for the warmth.

Henry shut the door behind me. “I’m sorry if you were waiting outside for long. I was in the cellar and it’s hard to hear from there. I wasn’t expecting anyone.” He ruffled his hair in a boyish gesture that made it messier rather than neater. It was walnut-colored and thick, with just the tiniest hint of gray at the temples. A short layer of scruff covered his jaw.

“Oh, that’s okay. It was only a minute or so.” I gestured toward the parking lot with a mittened hand. “I was out taking a walk and saw your truck. I thought I’d come in and say hi. See how things are going.”

“Things are going well, thanks.”

“Did the grapes have a good year?”

“Yeah,” he said, nodding. “I think it’s going to be a nice vintage.”

After a somewhat awkward pause, I glanced toward the cellar. “Working late, huh?”

He shrugged. “I’m kind of a night owl these days.”

“Me too.” That is, if you could call lying awake panicking about your hot mess of a life being a night owl.

“Did you just get in?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest. He wore jeans, work boots, and a thick gray henley with the sleeves pushed up, revealing muscular forearms and solid wrists. His henley had a hole on the chest, and a white undershirt peeked through.

“We got in earlier tonight. I don’t know if you heard, but the kids and I are moving here.” There was another awkward moment of silence before I added, “Brett and I split up.”

He nodded, looking a little uncomfortable. “I did hear that, from April, but I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to know or not. So I didn’t want to say anything.”

I looked at the floor and shuffled my feet before peeking up at him. “Um, is it weird if I say the same thing? That I know about your divorce too, but I’m not sure if I’m supposed to?”

“It’s fine.” Then he surprised me with a smile, his green eyes crinkling at the corners. “But clearly, if we ever have a real secret, we should not tell April.”

I smiled too. “Clearly.”

We stood there grinning at each other for a moment, and my body warmed as I suddenly found myself wondering what kind of secret the ruggedly handsome Henry DeSantis and I might have.

It awakened something small and fluttery inside me.

Four

Henry

I’d forgotten how beautiful she was.

I hadn’t spent any extended time with Sylvia, the oldest Sawyer daughter, since she’d lived in California as long as I’d worked here, but I’d met and chatted with her a dozen times over the years. She had always struck me as elegant and kind, maybe a little reserved—friendly, but not as outgoing as April, Chloe, or Frannie, whom I knew much better because they lived or worked here. So it surprised me that she’d wandered in here tonight to say hi.

The last time I’d seen her was at Mack and Frannie’s wedding. She and her husband had been seated at our table, but he was the kind of guy who liked to dominate the conversation, and all I could think of was that I finally had to explain Renee’s absence. I hadn’t told anyone yet that she’d already moved out. But I remembered thinking that Sylvia had looked sad that night—stunning, as usual, but sad.

One year, Renee had pitched a fit about my talking to Sylvia too long at the Cloverleigh Christmas party, not just because Sylvia was attractive, but she had two perfect children as well. So not only was her face superior, but her uterus was too.

“You’re being ridiculous,” I’d told Renee after she blew up at me on the ride home. “She asked me about this year’s crop because of the wet spring weather. We were talking about wine.”

“You don’t think she’s pretty?” Renee accused.

There was no good way to answer that question. “Listen. In all the years we’ve been together, I’ve never once been tempted by another woman’s face—let alone another woman’s uterus.”

It was true. I’d never been unfaithful to Renee, never even thought about it.

But standing here looking at Sylvia’s wide-set blue eyes, her cheeks pink from the cold, her long blond hair tumbling around her face from beneath her winter hat . . . I didn’t blame Renee for being jealous.

Of course I thought Sylvia was pretty—who wouldn’t?

She glanced around. “So what’s new and exciting? I haven’t been in here in a while.”

I wasn’t sure how to answer that, since my idea of exciting wasn’t always the same as other people’s when it came to wine. Before I could decide if hearing about our new bottling line would send her racing for the door, bored to tears, she asked another question.

“What’s in the barrels?” She moved toward the large windows overlooking the cellar, which was one level down and lined with huge steel tanks and rows of big oak barrels.

“Several things.” I walked over and stood at her side. She smelled like cookies, and my stomach growled. “Chardonnay, cabernet franc, pinot noir.”