12. Conrad
CONRAD
It was close to nine at night when someone knocked at the front door. I was already halfway downstairs before I fully processed why that was strange. Winnie and I had chosen a later time to meet so that the kids would be asleep.
The kids were either asleep or being really good fakers as Lady Ferdinand settled in our family room with one of her mystery novels and a copious amount of tea. And Winnie?—
My brain stalled briefly.
Winnie was the reason someone was knocking.
Right.
Because this wasn’t just dinner. But it also was not a date, which had become increasingly hard to remember over the last two hours.
I’d changed clothes three times before settling on dark slacks, polished shoes, and a charcoal button-down beneath an old-fashioned wool coat that leaned vaguely twenties-inspired without making me look like I solved crimes by punching jazz musicians.
The speakeasy had been Winnie’s suggestion.
“There’s a lovely historical place downtown,” she’d said earlier that week after agreeing to my thank-you outing. “Very old-fashioned. Wonderful music.”
That shouldn’t have made me so nervous, but I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been to a place with a bar and live music. I already felt out of my element. Then again, the woman could probably ask me to investigate a haunted penitentiary, and I’d still say yes before common sense caught up.
The second I opened the front door, I forgot every coherent thought I’d ever had.
Winnie was dressed in dark emerald instead of black, the porch light illuminating her. Her dress fit close through the waist before falling softly below the knee, elegant and understated except for the neckline, which?—
Shit.
I’d always known Winnie was curvy. I wasn’t blind. But Winnie usually dressed like she was actively evading both sunlight and human perception. High collars. Layers. Gloves. Dramatic coats.
Tonight there was skin. Just enough exposed collarbone and cleavage to completely derail my nervous system.
And her eyes.
God, her eyes were stunning without the giant sunglasses hiding them. Light green with those gold flecks catching the light. That was what I should focus on.
Unfortunately, my brain remained catastrophically aware of her breasts. Was her cleavage casting a spell on me? I was fighting for my life, trying not to stare directly at it.
“Conrad?”
I blinked furiously.
She was smiling at me, clearly trying not to laugh. “You appear to have left your body briefly.”
“I—” Excellent start. I cleared my throat. “You look…”
Sexy. Beautiful. Like the beginning of several very bad decisions.
“…really nice,” I finished weakly.
Her lips parted, her gaze losing its sharp, teasing edge. “So do you.”
I became acutely aware that I’d spent twenty minutes deciding between two nearly identical coats. Worth it.
Winnie’s hair was loose tonight instead of pinned back, the red waves spilling over her shoulders.
And God help me, I was trying so hard to behave normally.
“You’re not wearing sunglasses,” I blurted.
Really smooth, Conrad. Devastatingly suave.
Winnie laughed. “It is nighttime.”
“Right. Yes. That does track.”
Before I could continue humiliating myself, Lady Ferdinand appeared from around the corner, carrying a teacup.
“Well, there she is. Hello, Winifred,” she announced, her voice instantly dropping its grand, formal edge for a tone of genuine, maternal tenderness.
The transformation in Winnie was immediate. The careful, guarded posture she usually maintained around the rest of the world completely vanished, her face lighting up with a brilliant, unfiltered warmth. “Lady Ferdinand.”
To my surprise, they didn’t just exchange a polite greeting; they stepped into a tight embrace.
Lady Ferdinand set her teacup down on the hall table with a quick click and wrapped both arms around Winnie, pulling her close.
Winnie clung to her for a long beat, burying her face against the older woman’s shoulder as if it were the safest place on earth.
“It’s so lovely to see you, dear. You look beautiful,” Lady Ferdinand said as they parted, her hands resting on Winnie’s shoulders.
She reached up, gently tucking a stray lock of hair behind Winnie’s ear with an easy familiarity.
“How are you keeping? Is that drafty little cottage of yours still freezing you out? I told you years ago we should have had the floors insulated.”
A soft laugh, filled with fondness, escaped Winnie. “I’m doing very well these days, thank you. The fireplace keeps it perfectly cozy.”
Lady Ferdinand’s gaze lingered on Winnie’s face before she glanced at me, her eyes twinkling with a knowing amusement that made my cheeks heat.
Traitorous face.
She reached down and squeezed Winnie’s hand. “Conrad tells me things are going splendidly with the children,” she continued, her tone rich with a deep-seated pride. “Though, I never doubted it would. You always did have a magic touch with the stubborn ones.”
Winnie looked up at me, a flush rising on her cheeks. “They are wonderful children,” she said softly.
“You say that now,” I muttered, crossing my arms. “Wait until Billie learns how to pick a lock.”
“She’s already researching it,” Winnie informed me, a tiny, teasing spark in her voice that told me she was entirely on Billie’s side.
Lady Ferdinand let out a delighted, musical laugh.
“Excellent initiative. I expect nothing less from a child under your wing, Winifred.” She patted Winnie’s cheek affectionately before retrieving her teacup.
“Now, off with you both. Enjoy your evening. I’ll take excellent care of the little ones if they wake—heaven knows you’ve minded enough of mine. ”
“I appreciate this,” I told her sincerely.
“Nonsense. I haven’t enjoyed this much romantic tension in years.”
I nearly choked.
“Lady Ferdinand,” Winnie protested lightly, though she looked amused, and… sheepish?
“What?” the older woman asked innocently. “I’m old, not blind.”
Winnie laughed under her breath while I considered walking directly into traffic.
Thankfully, she rescued me by turning toward the driveway and gesturing to the car. “Shall we?”
“Yes,” I said quickly.
The drive downtown should’ve been awkward, but it was easy.
Winnie sat beside me with one hand resting lightly against the door while old jazz played quietly through the speakers.
The city lights passed across her face in warm flashes as we talked—not about anything especially important, just small talk about Billie’s bake sale infamy, CJ’s eel conspiracy story, Bianca’s growing collection of books, heavy enough to crush a small child.
“She hid three library books beneath her pillow last week,” Winnie told me.
“Why?”
“She said proximity improved retention.”
“That sounds like Bianca.”
“She also informed me that dreams might facilitate subconscious synthesis.”
I laughed. “Definitely Bianca.”
Winnie smiled toward the windshield. “She fell asleep holding a textbook against her chest.”
The fondness on her face made me all that more aware that we were sharing a small space. But it didn’t bother me. In fact, it made me want to be even closer to her.
“You really love them,” I said before I could stop myself.
Her gaze shifted slowly toward me. “Yes,” she admitted after a moment. “I do.”
The honesty of it settled heavily between us. Suddenly, I understood with painful clarity why the house felt different lately. The kids knew it too. Children always knew who loved them.
The speakeasy was hidden beneath an old brick building downtown, accessible only through an unmarked black door with a single amber light overhead. I parked curbside and stared at it. “This is either going to be very classy, or we’re about to join a crime syndicate.”
Winnie looked delighted. “Both are possible.”
We stepped into a space with low lighting, courtesy of the antique chandeliers. The jazz music played by the live band on the small stage drifted through the air as people crowded around dark wood tables and velvet booths.
The entire space was suspended slightly outside of time. Old photographs lined the brick walls. Crystal glasses caught the light. Laughter rose warmly beneath the music.
And apparently every single person inside knew Winnie.
The moment we stepped through the doorway, a man behind the bar lit up. “Winnie!”
She grinned immediately. “Marco.”
Another woman waved from a nearby booth. “Darling, where have you been?”
Someone near the band shouted, “Carrington! About time!”
I stopped walking. Winnie turned back toward me with obvious amusement. “What?”
“You’re friends with everyone.”
She shrugged. “No, I’m really not. Everyone’s just super welcoming here.”
A tall woman in a velvet jumpsuit passed by and kissed Winnie’s cheek. “You vanished for weeks. I assumed you’d finally murdered somebody important.”
I stared.
Winnie looked entirely unbothered. “No murders this fiscal year.”
The woman cackled and moved on.
For some reason, I’d never really considered Winnie having a community or a personal history in the city beyond our house. In my head, she existed almost entirely within the orbit of our family.
Seeing her here was startling in the best possible way. She was brighter here. She laughed openly, teased people freely. When a gray-haired pianist came up to her and launched into a story about “the cocktail incident of 2018”, she simply leaned against the bar and listened to him.
And the outfit—God help me.
Without the heavy coats and layers, Winnie was not merely pretty. She was stunning. Curvy in a way that made every man in the room notice when she walked by. She was confident without seeming aware of it. Elegant without even trying.
At one point, she threw her head back, laughing at something the bartender said, and I genuinely forgot what year it was.
“You all right there, handsome?”
I looked up. The elderly gentleman grinned while taking a sip of his cocktail.
“Yeah,” I lied.
“You’ve got the look.”
“What look?”
“The one people get when they realize Winnie Carrington exists.”