“What can I bring?” I asked her.

April shook her head. “Nothing, just come.”

I wouldn’t show up empty-handed, but I could worry about that later. “Okay, I’ll see you in a little bit.”

“Good,” April said. “Coming, Syl?”

“Yes.” She started to remove my Carhartt again, but I reached out and stopped her.

“Wear it. It’s too cold for you to be out there without a coat.”

Her face flushed as she zipped it up. “Okay. Thanks. See you in a little bit.”

I watched them walk out and wondered if it was normal to feel like a fifteen-year-old boy in a grown man’s body. Hormones I’d forgotten I had were surging through my veins, and my heart was beating way too fast. She was so fucking pretty.

It’s fine, I told myself as I got ready to go. It’s normal. It’s a biological response. She’s a beautiful woman paying a lot of attention to you, and you haven’t had sex in a really long time.

But letting her wear my coat was as far as this could go.

5. Sylvia

Five

Sylvia

Henry’s jacket was thick and warm and smelled really good—not like fancy cologne or aftershave—but something earthy and wintry and masculine. I’d smelled the same scent last night, standing close to him in the winery. As I walked, I dipped my chin deeper inside the collar and inhaled deeply.

“What are you doing?” April asked.

“Nothing.”

“Um, it looked to me like you were sniffing Henry’s coat.”

“What? That’s ridiculous.”

“Really? Because it also looked like something was going on between you two just now in the tasting room.”

My stomach hollowed. “Like what?”

“I don’t know. It seemed like I was interrupting something.”

“That’s even more ridiculous.”

But was it?

Ever since Henry had walked me home last night, he’d been on my mind. Not in an obscene way or anything, just . . . there. I’d had such a nice time with him. I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d talked so openly and easily with someone, let alone a man. Brett was a talker, of course, but it was always totally superficial. And if I tried to steer the conversation somewhere deeper and more meaningful, if I tried to hint at the fears I had that our marriage was coming apart at the seams, or ask him how he was feeling, he would just change the subject. After a while, he wouldn’t even look me in the eye.