11. Conrad
CONRAD
By the time dinner was ready, the entire house had the loose, giddy feeling of people who’d used up all their energy doing things worth doing.
My children were happy.
I looked at each of them in turn.
Billie sat at the kitchen table in mismatched socks with dirt still somehow trapped beneath one fingernail despite both a bath and an aggressive scrubbing campaign. Senator Crunch occupied the seat beside her atop a folded napkin like an honored guest.
CJ had his notebook open while he ate, occasionally scribbling things down between bites, as if he was terrified the inspiration might evaporate if he didn’t get it down immediately.
Bianca had already assembled half of the mechanical puzzle kit from the museum and kept absentmindedly reaching over to rotate one of the pieces while eating pasta with her other hand.
And yet, Winnie was the one my gaze kept tracking to.
She’d moved around the kitchen calmly, ladling sauce over pasta after surviving a PTA uprising, a museum outing, and a day with my children.
Her sleeves were rolled slightly past her wrists now, exposing pale skin and the thin gold bracelet she sometimes wore.
She’d taken off her gloves and hat, leaving her wine-red hair pinned back loosely.
She looked tired, but not in a bad way. It was warm around the edges. She was alive in a way I hadn’t seen during those first weeks when she’d seemed composed almost to the point of distance. Now, she laughed easily and teased the kids.
The house had started shaping itself around her presence without any of us noticing when exactly that happened.
“Daddy,” Billie said, “you’re staring again.”
I nearly dropped my fork. “I was not.”
“You absolutely were,” Bianca said.
Winnie knelt next to Billie to help cut food, trying to hide a smile. For some reason, that only made it worse somehow.
Winnie finally sat down beside the kids once everyone else had food, but I noticed her place setting remained empty.
I frowned automatically. “You’re not eating?”
She folded her hands in her lap. “I already had something earlier.”
“That was hours ago.”
“I prefer intermittent fasting.”
CJ glanced up at her. “You fast?”
“Sometimes.”
“What’s intermittent fasting?” Billie asked.
“It means she skips dinner on purpose,” Bianca supplied.
Billie gasped in horror. “That sounds illegal.”
“It’s voluntary,” Winnie assured her.
Winnie was so petite. Not fragile exactly. She was soft, curvaceous, and drop-dead gorgeous. I suddenly had an irrational awareness of how little I’d ever seen her eat, which was weird.
Why was I cataloging her eating habits? It was inappropriate. None of my business. And yet…
“You don’t need to diet,” I said before my brain could stop me.
The table went silent. Bianca slowly lowered her fork. CJ’s eyes widened with visible interest.
Billie’s mouth dropped open. “Daddy thinks Winnie’s pretty.”
Heat shot straight into my face. “I didn’t say that.”
“It was implied,” CJ said.
I winced. “I’m begging you to stop talking.”
Winnie laughed lightly, lowering her gaze to the table. There was color in her cheeks now, faint but visible.
“I assure you,” she said gently, “I’m not trying to lose weight.”
“Good,” I said quickly. Too quickly.
Billie kicked her feet, hitting me right in the knee. “You should eat, though. Daddy says food fixes sadness.”
Winnie’s eyes drifted toward mine, warm with amusement. “Perhaps I’ll make an exception another evening.”
That pleased me far more than it should have.
Dinner carried on before I could dwell on that too hard.
The pasta Winnie had made was incredible, but then, everything she cooked was.
It was nothing flashy or designed for compliments, but it was comfort food and made everyone quieter after the first few bites because they were too busy enjoying it to talk.
Billie broke the silence first. “The bake sale was better than every fundraiser ever.”
“That’s because there was violence,” CJ said.
“There was no violence,” Bianca corrected. “There was one isolated shin incident.”
“I defended Winnie’s honor,” Billie insisted.
Bianca sighed. “You assaulted a parent.”
“Well, Mr. Rodriguez really liked Winnie, so I didn’t get in trouble,” Billie said.
I raised an eyebrow. “Is that so?”
Billie nodded. “He was flirting with Winnie.”
I almost choked on my water. Who the hell did Mr. Rodriguez think he was? Flirting with a student’s nanny? The audacity.
Winnie must’ve noticed my grimace because she raised her hands in defense “Now, Billie. That’s not true. There was no flirting. The man simply enjoyed the pastries and the whimsy they brought to the event. That’s all.”
“That better be all,” I mumbled against my glass.
“What was that, Daddy?” Bianca asked.
“Oh… nothing. Just saying how it sounds like everyone had a ball.”
CJ leaned back dramatically in his chair. “Our grade never gets to do fun fundraisers. We just sell wrapping paper and coupon books like corporate interns.”
“The sixth grade had the magazine drive,” Bianca reminded him.
“That was psychological warfare.”
“You cried because Mrs. Henderson said your sales pitch lacked confidence.”
“She crushed my entrepreneurial spirit.”
Winnie tilted her head thoughtfully. “Did you recover?”
“Barely.”
Billie raised her hand suddenly. “We should do haunted car washes.”
I raised an eyebrow. “That doesn’t sound safe at all.”
“People love danger,” she argued.
“She’s not wrong,” Winnie murmured.
I looked at her. “Please don’t encourage the tiny anarchist.”
“She requires very little encouragement.”
CJ suddenly straightened in his seat. “Speaking of chaos, I have a new story idea.”
Winnie lit up immediately. I’d noticed she always reacted that way when CJ talked about writing, like she understood how fragile new creative confidence could be and wanted to protect it.
“Tell me everything,” she said.
CJ practically vibrated with excitement. “Okay. So there’s this creepy seaside town?—”
Winnie nodded. “Strong opening.”
“—and every year during the giant fog festival, somebody disappears.”
“Ooh, murder?” Billie asked with more enthusiasm for the macabre than a five-year-old should have.
“Maybe.”
Bianca twirled pasta around her fork. “It seems the town should stop hosting the festival, then.”
“That’s the thinking of a quitter,” CJ said.
I leaned back in my chair, listening as he launched fully into the premise.
“The whole town blames this ancient sea monster that supposedly lives beneath the cliffs, and tourists come every year hoping to see it.”
“What kind of sea monster?” Winnie asked seriously.
“A giant eel.”
“Oh, that’s an excellent choice.”
“Thank you.” CJ continued, fully in his element now. “Anyway, the main character starts investigating because her brother disappears during the festival and?—”
“Wait,” Billie interrupted. “Does the eel eat him?”
“No.”
“Well, that’s a missed opportunity,” Bianca said.
“The giant eel isn’t real.”
Billie pouted. “Then what’s the point of the eel?”
“It’s a cover-up.”
Bianca paused mid-bite. “Interesting.”
CJ grinned proudly. “The mayor invented the monster decades earlier to hide smuggling operations through the caves.”
My eyes widened. “That’s actually pretty good.”
He tried to play it cool, but the praise affected him.
Winnie leaned forward slightly, completely engaged. “And what clues are you planting beforehand?”
CJ’s eyes sparkled. “Oh, there are tons. Weird shipping records. Contradictory witness accounts. Somebody mentions hearing chains instead of monster noises early on, but nobody pays attention because they’re distracted by festival stuff.”
“A twist is only as good as its setup,” Winnie said approvingly.
CJ gave her a lopsided smile. “Exactly.” Then he winked.
I stared at my son. “When did you learn to wink for emphasis?”
“I’m an artist now.”
Winnie chuckled. “You’re getting the hang of it.”
The pride on CJ’s face nearly wrecked me. A few months ago, he would’ve hidden all this under jokes and nonsense stories. Now, he was sitting at the dinner table, talking openly about plot structure while somebody listened like his ideas mattered.
Winnie had done that simply by treating his imagination like something valuable instead of something to manage.
Billie announced she wanted to write “a horror cookbook,” which Bianca said was just Victorian cuisine. That had CJ cracking up.
Winnie was looking at them as if she wanted to bottle the moment.
And I?—
I was fascinated by everything about her.
The way she tucked her hair behind one ear while listening.
The way she paid complete attention when one of the kids spoke, even if the subject was objectively ridiculous.
The tiny crinkles near her eyes when she laughed for real.
The way she moved, with complete and utter grace.
It had been three years since I’d looked at another adult this way.
Jade’s face flashed through my mind so suddenly it almost felt physical.
I quickly averted my gaze. The guilt still surprised me sometimes. It wasn’t that I thought I’d never move forward. People moved forward. The world demanded it eventually. But there was some part of me that still felt disloyal whenever happiness arrived unexpectedly. Especially this kind.
Especially her.
After dinner, Winnie stood and started clearing the dishes.
“No,” I said.
She frowned at me. “No?”
“You cooked.”
“Yes, that generally precedes washing dishes.”
“Sit down,” Bianca said firmly.
CJ pointed toward the family room. “Retire, kitchen sorceress.”
“We shall clean!” Billie proclaimed, slamming her hands down on the table.
Winnie looked between all of us with visible confusion. “You do realize I’m perfectly capable of helping?”
“Yes,” Bianca said. “But this is equitable labor distribution.”
“Also, Daddy’s trying to impress you.”
“CJ,” I warned.
“What? I support your efforts to woo Winnie.”
I almost blacked out from embarrassment. “There will be no wooing. Only cleaning.”
Winnie pressed her lips together.
I pointed at the couch. “Go relax.”