Stop it, I told myself immediately. It doesn’t matter what he’s doing.

But what if he was still at work? If he was, would it be okay to go say hello? It had been three days. That was enough cooling time, right? Surely by now, we could have a conversation without being tempted to do stupid things. And that was all I needed—a conversation. Someone to talk to. Something to take my mind off things. Someone to reassure me I existed outside the realm of all my problems, to lift me out of this pit and make me forget.

Make me feel good. Make me feel beautiful. Make me feel sexy and desirable and feminine and alive.

Without giving myself any more time to think about it, I threw the laundry basket aside, raced downstairs, and put on my coat and boots. Maybe his truck won’t even be there, I thought as I hurried away from the house. The snow was thick beneath my feet. Maybe he’s already home for the night because of the blizzard. Maybe he’s even out with those other friends. It is Saturday night. Not everyone is sitting at home being lonely and miserable. I followed the path toward the winery, but I could see before I got too far that the parking lot was empty, covered in a pristine layer of white.

I stopped walking. My shoulders sagged, and my heart ached. Any hope I had of salvaging this evening was gone.

Or was it?

Turning around, a plan began to take shape in my mind. A wicked, reckless, irresponsible plan.

But I was none of those things. I was a good person. I could always be counted on to make the right decisions. I put others before myself. I was not the sort of person who went around acting on foolish impulses for the wrong reasons. And what I was thinking of doing was very, very foolish—more foolish than eight mimosas at Breakfast with Santa. It was greedy too. And it came with a much greater risk.

But once the idea was in my head, I couldn’t stop myself.

10. Henry

Ten

Henry

When I heard the knock, my gut told me it was her.

For the last three days, I’d been expecting her at the winery with a mixture of dread and anticipation. Each night, I’d come home feeling grateful that she hadn’t shown up and yet still wishing she had. Because even though I knew nothing could happen, I liked being around her. I missed talking to her. I missed her face. I missed the way it felt to do nice things for a woman I was attracted to.

I was trying to do what Lucas had said, give both Sylvia and I some breathing room, but I hadn’t stopped thinking of her for a minute.