Page 5 of Mixed Motives

Henry’s eyes are imploring me. “You’re not just saying that, are you? You really do like me?”

I smile. “No, I’m not just saying it. I’ve never acknowledged it, but I’ve probably had a crush on you forever. Still, we can’t act on it.”

He gives me the most effective side-eye I’ve ever received. “So, what you’re saying is that we should be responsible adults?”

“Definitely.”

“Ugh,” he moans, and I can’t help imagining him making the same sound in other circumstances. “This is worse than the banana nut muffin.”

“Pardon?”

“Nothing. Nothing. I should get going. I’m sorry, this was a bad idea.” He stands, and I stand, too.

“Look,” I say. “I’m flattered, for real. And I wish I could date you. But it isn’t right.”

The sad look he gives me almost cracks my resolve, but he nods. I walk with him to the door.

“You’re not going to tell Kerrigan, are you?” he asks.

“Absolutely not.” I put a hand on his bare shoulder, and he shudders.

“Thanks.” He clears his throat. “I’ll see you around?”

“Of course,” I say, and he leaves. I watch his pert ass sway in those short shorts as he walks back to his car, and I have to hold myself back from racing after him. Then I close the door and return to my study.

I wish my life were different. Sure, I’ve been on a few dates here and there since my divorce, but I haven’t clicked with anyone. I haven’t felt for them a tiny bit of the emotions Henry stirs just by giving me a sheepish smile.

He’s sexy as hell, and I could talk with him all day. But nope.

I’d been working from home today, but—big surprise—returning to spreadsheets and inventory isn’t anywhere near as stimulating as the few minutes with Henry.

Later, in bed, as my hand finds my cock, I know something in my life has to change. I’m too lonely.

The following day, Kerrigan walks into the back office at the winery, clearly looking for me. Officially, he’s our social media manager, but it’s basically an excuse for him to go to parties. He thinks he’s some kind of it-boy influencer. As far as the company goes, I think he’s a tax deduction.

Don’t get me wrong—I love my son. But he drives me up the wall sometimes. Especially when I hear stories like the one Henry told me.

I know precisely how I screwed up with Kerrigan. But like most parents, I have no idea how to fix it.

I rise when I see him and give him a hug, although part of me wants to strangle him… for obvious reasons.

“How’s it going?” I ask, debating whether to bring up Henry.

My son plants his lanky body in the guest chair across from my desk. “It’s okay. I was going to grab a few bottles of the 2008 Reserve to take to a party in Montecito.”

Figures he’d ask for that one—our priciest and most limited vintage. “You can take two bottles,” I say. “If you need more, take it from the 2019, okay?”

While I usually stay six miles away from my son’s love life, there’s something about Henry that makes me want to stick up for him. And while I don’t want my son to get back together with him—Henry deserves better than someone as selfish as Kerrigan—I still feel like I need to fight for Henry.

“Thanks.” He stands to leave, but I lift my chin and point to the chair. “What?” he asks, sitting back down again, a confused expression on his face.

“A rumor is floating around that you and Henry Carter broke up. Is that true?”

Kerrigan doesn’t even look contrite. “Yeah.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “That’s all you’re going to say?”

He shrugs. “Yeah. I mean, it didn’t work out.”

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