A Valentine Kiss. Christy McKellen

to turn into a tree house for the little grape?’

      He heard her sharp intake of breath before he realised he had used the pet name they had given their child after finding out they were having a boy. They had been so happy, he thought, pain tainting the memory. It had been the first time they had considered names for the baby, and he had teased her, calling him ‘the little grape’ since their child would one day have to take over the vineyard.

      Mila had protested, of course, and with each objection had come a splutter of laughter that had warmed Jordan’s insides so much that the name had stuck. They’d had a list of real names, of course, but they had never got the chance to decide on what they would call him.

      ‘Yes, I remember,’ she said hoarsely, and he reached for her hand, not caring about the unspoken rules that meant he shouldn’t.

      ‘I’m sorry, Mila, I didn’t mean to—’

      ‘It’s okay.’ She squeezed his hand. ‘I think it’s time we weren’t afraid to refer to our son.’

      He tightened his hand on hers and then let go, unable to keep the contact. His son was always in his thoughts—and always would be. He couldn’t escape the way it had felt to hold his dying son in his arms when he’d been barely big enough to fit in Jordan’s hands.

      But she was right—he had been afraid to speak about him. And there was a lot more to it than just the fact that he couldn’t bring himself to do it. No, admitting to Mila earlier that he’d been scared when they’d found out she was pregnant was only the tip of the iceberg. It hadn’t fully left his mind since their conversation, and he’d realised that, as he’d initially thought, he had been scared he would turn out to be the same as his father. And that was part of the reason he’d left for Johannesburg.

      Jordan knew Greg had loved him, but his childhood had been tainted by his father’s grief. Grief that had made Greg into a bitter and sometimes angry man. The years after his mother had died had been filled with tension for Jordan—he’d sometimes felt as if he was walking on eggshells when he was around Greg. As a child, Jordan hadn’t understood why his father would never look at him in the eye, or why Greg had spoken at him instead of to him. If he’d ever spoken to Jordan at all.

      He had started behaving badly because of it, which had strained his relationship with Greg even more. It had also led to the night that would be burned in his memory for ever. The night that had changed Jordan—and his father—with only a few words.

      Jordan vaguely remembered a time when laughing had been easy for his father. When there had been an open affection between them. But those memories were so faded he wondered if he’d made them up. The memories that were clear were of a steady man—a sombre, reserved and often difficult man. It clearly highlighted the fact that when Jordan had lost his mother, he’d lost his father, as well. And that had led to Jordan not being able to grieve fully for his mother because, frankly, his father had done it for both of them.

      He hadn’t thought about it until Mila had told him she was pregnant, and then suddenly he’d spent nights worrying about whether that grief for his mother would pop up once Mila had had the baby. Whether that grief would turn him into the kind of angry man his father was and spoil his son’s childhood and Jordan’s marriage.

      It had made him worry that they’d rushed into marriage, made him think that he should have considered those possibilities when he’d been able to do something about them.

      And when they’d lost the baby his fears had only intensified. He’d lost someone he loved, just as his father had, which surely upped the chances of Jordan turning into Greg. So Jordan had left. Escaped. Or, as he’d recently realised, run away...

      ‘He’s not alone, you know,’ Mila said suddenly as he pulled into the driveway of their old house. ‘The little grape’s with our parents.’

      He glanced over and saw a tiny smile on her lips. It made her look peaceful, he thought, and a large part inside him settled at the thought. It brought him peace, too.

      ‘That’s a really lovely thing to think about, isn’t it?’

      She smiled at him, and something in his heart eased. Was that because she’d smiled at him—a sweet, genuine smile that he had only been privy to that day—or was it because it comforted him to think about two generations of his family together?

      ‘He’ll have met your mom,’ Mila said softly. ‘I always wished I could have met her, you know. Your father used to talk about her sometimes.’

      Jordan could tell that Mila was looking at him, but he stared steadily ahead. He didn’t want to talk about his mother. That would mean telling her about his father. About his childhood. About his fears.

      ‘She sounded amazing.’

      He didn’t respond, and then he tilted his head. ‘Come on. Before it gets dark.’

      He got out of the car, aware of the disappointment that shrouded her, and waited for her to join him as he stood outside the house they’d lived in during their short marriage. The first time he had seen the house he had thought it timeless and elegant—exactly what he had been looking for for his sweet, beautiful bride.

      A marble pathway led to large oak doors that looked newly polished yet still antiquated. Large glass windows overlooked the road, and gave the white façade a modern feel. The pathway was lined with palm trees, which had always made him feel as if he was walking into an oasis of some kind. It still looked the same to him now, though all the memories made him feel more than he had the first time he had seen it.

      Now he thought about those days when they’d had breakfast on the patio, just as the sun went up. She had always moaned about getting up that early, but the peace on her face when she was curled up on a chair, a cup of coffee in her hand, made him think she’d thought it worth it. He remembered walking hand in hand with her through their garden, where the roses that were planted there were always the perfect gift for her. And he could still see her lying next to the pool, the slight swell of her stomach obvious in her swimming costume. Could still feel the surge of protectiveness that had gone through him when he’d looked at her.

      ‘It looks the same...but it feels different,’ she said beside him, and he looked down at her to see a mixture of emotions playing over her face that had him grabbing for her hand.

      He could feel that she was shaking, and just like that he realised what he’d been missing in the car—why she’d been anxious about coming back.

      ‘It reminds you of your fall, doesn’t it?’

      She didn’t have to answer him—he could see the truth of his words on her face.

      I’m an idiot, he thought, and wondered how he hadn’t thought about it before.

      His mind had been too focused on showing her the secret he’d kept since he’d found out that she was pregnant. He hadn’t wanted today to end, hadn’t wanted her guard to come up, and in the process his actions to prevent it had hurt her.

      He was a selfish man, he thought in disgust.

      ‘I sometimes still dream about it,’ she said quietly, and he immediately wanted to hold her in his arms.

      But her words told him that she was forcing herself to face it—it was that fire he’d noticed in her when he’d returned again—and he told himself to be content with holding her hand.

      ‘I can feel myself falling, reaching for a railing that wasn’t there for support. And then the impact of rolling down the stairs.’ She drew a shaky breath. ‘I still feel foolish for falling down five steps.’

      ‘It had been raining,’ he said immediately, his heart clenching in pain at the anguish—the guilt—that he heard in her voice.

      She ignored him. ‘I lay there, my breath gone, with shock keeping me from feeling the true pain of what my body had just gone through, and I felt warmth between my legs and realised...’

      Her hand was so tight on