While he retrieved the whiskey bottle, I poured us each a mug of coffee. He added a shot to each glass, and I spooned some of the leftover whipped cream on top. “There. Perfect.”

“Do you want to sit down?” he asked, glancing down at my shoes. “You’ve been working in here for a while.”

“Definitely. Let’s go into the family room.”

The fire was low but still crackled in the fireplace, giving the room a cozy glow. I took a seat at one end of the couch, and Henry settled at the other end.

Tugging off my boots, I tucked my legs beneath me. “Looks like it’s still coming down out there,” I said, glancing out the sliding glass doors toward the patio. “But I like having a white Christmas.”

“Me too,” he said, sipping his coffee. “You must have missed that in California.”

“Well, we usually spent the holidays in Aspen if we didn’t come here.” I felt embarrassed saying it. It sounded so pretentious to me now.

“That must have been nice.”

“It was nice,” I said, “but being home for the holidays is better.”

He nodded, and I realized I had no idea where home was for him.

“Where did you grow up?” I asked, bringing my cup to my lips.

“On a farm in Iowa.”

“Really?” For some reason, it made me smile, picturing him as an Iowa farm boy.

He looked amused. “Does that surprise you?”

“Kind of. And I don’t know why it should—you’re still kind of a farmer.”

“Oh, I’m definitely still a farmer.”

“Is your family still in Iowa?”

He sipped his coffee before answering. “No. My brothers are spread around the country—one in Indianapolis, one in Fargo, one in Seattle—and my parents are both gone. I’ve got some cousins there, but I don’t see them too often.”

“Does the farm where you grew up still exist?”

“It does, but my dad sold it, and it was incorporated into a large-scale operation.”

“Why’d he sell it? I mean, why not give it to you?”

“I was still in college at the time, and I wasn’t really interested in farming corn and soybeans anyway. Actually, I wasn’t interested in farming at all. I thought I’d major in biology and go on to medical school.”

Intrigued, I tilted my head. “What made you change your mind about medical school?”

“I took a viticulture class at Cornell and fell in love with it, much to my mother’s dismay. I think she’d quite looked forward to bragging about her doctor son.”

I grinned. “Any regrets?”

“None. What I do still involves a lot of science, and I much prefer wine to people. Well, most people.”