Chapter 100 Gifts for Sylvia
The morning sun spilled across the kitchen floor in wide, golden wedges, illuminating dust motes that swirled like tiny galaxies. Sierra sat at the old oak table, barefoot, wrapped in one of her father’s flannel shirts over a cotton tank top. The air smelled of coffee, warm wood, and the faintest trace of horsehide from Cody’s boots by the back door. She stared at her phone, thumb hovering over Sylvia’s name in her contacts. It had taken her three cups of coffee and a long, restless walk down the dirt path behind the barn to gather the courage.
This isn’t about you, she told herself. It’s about her. About being kind. About not losing the one person who still makes this place feel like home, even as the home changes.
She pressed the call button.
Sylvia answered on the second ring, her voice bright as the morning: “Si? Now that’s a voice I wasn’t expecting this early.”
Sierra smiled, though it trembled at the corners. “Hey, Syl. I’m at the ranch. For a while, at least.”
“I heard the prodigal daughter had returned,” Sylvia teased. “Cody mentioned you showed up with fried chicken.”
Since when did Cody talk to Sylvia?
Things you never expected develop when you’re out of the loop, I guess.
Sierra let out a laugh that surprised her, genuine, if shaky. “He wasn’t wrong. I brought something back for you. From London. If you’re free, I’d love for you to come by the ranch. I’ve got coffee on, if you want to bring some of those divine pastries of yours.”
There was a pause, then Sylvia’s voice softened. “Si, you didn’t have to do that.”
“I know,” Sierra said softly. “But I wanted to.”
They agreed on eleven. Sierra spent the next hour cleaning the living room, fluffing the faded leather couches. She laid out the gift bags on the table next to the porch swing. A buttery-soft camel wool coat from Burberry, tailored and elegant, just the right length to sway with Sylvia’s confident stride. A pair of deep burgundy Manolo Blahnik ankle boots, practical enough for Kingman, luxurious enough to make her feel like a queen. A silk scarf in midnight blue, hand-painted with gold constellations. Delicate gold earrings shaped like desert stars. And the coup de gracia, almost reckless in its intimacy. A silk pajama set, ivory with black lace trim.
When Sylvia’s Jeep pulled up the drive, Sierra felt her stomach twist. She stood in the doorway, hands clasped, trying to project calm.
But the second Sylvia stepped out, dressed in high-waisted jeans, a cream-colored peasant blouse, and her usual effortless grace, everything settled. She hugged Sierra tightly, her perfume earthy and sweet, like jasmine and smoke.
“You look incredible,” Sylvia said, stepping back, her dark eyes sweeping over Sierra’s face. “City life agrees with you. Mostly.”
Sierra laughed. “Mostly?”
“You’ve got shadows under your eyes like you’ve been arguing with ghosts.”
You have no idea.
They settled on the porch swing, mugs of coffee in hand, the gifts unwrapped and admired. “Sierra, these are gorgeous. All of them. You didn’t have to go through all this trouble.”
“I wanted to,” Sierra repeated, and for once, it didn’t feel like a lie. “You’ve always been generous with your time, your kindness. The least I could do was bring you a piece of London.”
Sylvia leaned her shoulder against Sierra’s, the intimacy of the gesture stirring something deep and aching in Sierra’s chest. “You sure know how to spoil me,” she said with a soft laugh. She wrapped her in her arms and hugged her tight. In spite of the turmoil inside, Sierra melted into her embrace.
“I’m so glad we found each other,” Sierra said. “I missed having a really good friend.”
“What do you mean? You have Chloe,” Sylvia responded.
“Yes. But Chloe and I also work together. Equal stress levels. You are so relaxed and homy.”
“I hope you said homy and not homely,” Sylvia joked.
They laughed, easy and warm, the kind of laughter that felt like home. For a moment, Sierra let herself believe they were just two friends catching up, the world outside this porch irrelevant. She watched Sylvia play with the earrings, tilting her head as she admired the way they flickered in the sunlight.
“You’re going to make me feel guilty for not getting you anything,” Sylvia said.
“You already gave me something,” Sierra said quietly. “You stayed.”
Sylvia stilled. She turned to Sierra, her expression suddenly tender. “Of course, I stayed. This is my home. You’re part of it, no matter how far you go.”
Sierra swallowed hard, her throat tight.
Then, after a pause, Sylvia shifted, her tone light but eyes glowing with excitement. “I have some news.”
Sierra lifted a brow. “Do tell.”
“I’ve got a new boyfriend,” Sylvia said, her smile blooming like a desert flower after rain.
Sierra’s breath caught, but she kept her face perfectly neutral. “Oh? Who’s the lucky guy?”
Sylvia’s gaze softened, her fingers playing with the edge of the scarf. “It’s Ryder.”
The name hung in the air like a bell tolling.
Sierra felt it in her bones, the weight, the finality. But she didn’t flinch. She smiled. “Ryder Marsh? Really?”
Sylvia nodded, radiant. “I know, right? I always thought he was kind of… broody. Intimidating. Remember how he used to pursue you back in high school, started rumors about how you two had been together in the barn?”
Sierra laughed, low and measured. “Oh, I remember. He used to follow me around like a lost puppy. I couldn’t get away from him.”
Sylvia giggled, “He’s different now. Still quiet, still serious, but he laughs, Sierra. And he listens. He took me out on a midnight horseback ride last week and brought a thermos of spiced cider. We just… talked. For hours.”
Each word was a small blade, slipping between Sierra’s ribs.
“He’s been through a lot,” Sylvia continued, her voice gentle. “It’s amazing that losing your dad hit him so hard. I think part of him gave up on ever being happy.”
Sierra’s fingers curled around her mug, grounding herself. This was new information: “My dad?”
“He said he always admired him, and he took it hard.” Sylvia turned to her, eyes shining. “He looks at me like I’m something precious. Like I’m worth the wait.”
Like I used to be, Sierra wanted to say.
But she didn’t.
Instead, she leaned in, curiosity in her voice. “I can’t believe it. You and Ryder?”
Sylvia laughed. “I know. It’s funny, right? My best friend’s arch-nemesis. The past doesn’t always predict the future.”
No, Sierra thought. Sometimes it just haunts it.
She forced another smile, keeping her voice light, amused. “He used to drive me crazy. ”
They both laughed, the sound ringing across the quiet yard.
Inside, Sierra was breaking.
She couldn’t mention that she and Ryder had been together for a while and truly believed they’d found what they wanted. Evidently, that hadn’t been true for Ryder. She remembered that last night in New York, his voice raw with sorrow, the following morning when they said goodbye. She didn’t tell her how he’d held her the day her father died, his arms the only thing keeping her upright.
Because Sylvia was happy.
Sierra, polished, successful, heartbroken Sierra, would not be the one to shatter that happiness.
Later, after Sylvia left with her gifts, Sierra sat alone on the porch swing, the scent of jasmine lingering in the air.
Love and fate are fickle things, she concluded.
On the table where Sylvia’s gifts had been earlier, her cellphone buzzed. She let out a heavy sigh and reached for it. The name on the caller ID made her catch her breath.
Julian Rossi.