19. Winnie #3
By the time I parked beneath the trees beside the cottage, twilight had fully settled over the property. My headlights swept briefly across the front porch, illuminating ivy climbing the railings and the herb boxes beneath the windows before I killed the engine.
The silence settled around me. Normally, I enjoyed this part of the evening, specifically the stillness and isolation. Tonight, though, my brain felt too full for peace.
I carried the insulated blood case inside and immediately set about giving myself tasks before my emotions staged another coup.
Once everything was put away, I retrieved my planner from the side table near the sitting room window. It was an old-school, paper planner, color-coded and extensively tabbed.
Conrad would probably laugh himself unconscious if he realized how aggressively organized I truly was.
Then again, perhaps not. He’d seen me manage three emotionally complicated children, a sprawling household, PTA politics, and an undead identity crisis simultaneously—although, he didn’t know about the last one.
At this point, color-coded scheduling might actually seem reasonable.
I curled into the corner of the sofa with my tea and opened to the upcoming week.
Monday:
CJ piano lessons.
Bianca library research hour.
Billie gymnastics.
Tuesday:
Meal prep rotation.
Garden watering.
Permission slip due for science museum trip.
Wednesday:
Spaghetti night.
Laundry.
Check weather for outdoor activities.
Thursday:
Bianca extra-credit presentation.
CJ writing encouragement.
Billie probably attempting parkour again.
Friday:
Movie night.
Restock tea.
Try not to accidentally ruin your own life.
I paused at that. Then sighed and scratched out the last one.
Outside, rain continued tapping softly against the windows while I planned meals for the Lawrence family with far too much affection for someone who was supposedly protecting herself emotionally.
Fried chicken Tuesday. Vegetable soup Thursday, because Bianca secretly adored soup despite pretending otherwise.
Extra strawberries packed into Billie’s lunches because she ate them like a woodland creature preparing for winter.
CJ preferred crunchy snacks while writing because he claimed soft textures disrupted his sense of narrative tension.
I had begun learning these things without even realizing it. I knew exactly what they liked, what comforted them, and what made them feel seen. It was far above what I usually did for the children I nannied.
I turned back a few pages in the planner.
The page for Mother’s Day was filled with little notes and crossed out handwriting. I traced my fingertip lightly along the ink. The day had felt so frighteningly normal. Not employee and employer. Not lonely widower and strange nanny.
Just… us.
Like a family.
My stomach twisted immediately at the thought.
No.
That was a very dangerous thought.
I leaned back against the couch cushions. The memory of the kiss returned instantly. His hand against my face. His mouth soft against mine. The look in his eyes afterward.
Hiding things from Conrad had become almost painful. Every time he thanked me or trusted me with his children, the guilt grew heavier.
I knew how this story ended. Humans didn’t react well to discovering their nanny drank blood and slept in a casket. Historically speaking, the reveal usually ruined the evening.
And yet… The children had accepted me. I loved them so much already. Would it be possible for Conrad to accept me as I truly was? That thought sat heavily while I started a load of laundry.
An hour later, after finishing the week’s schedule and texting Millie about our baking playdate next Saturday, I finally began feeling slightly more human. Or vampire equivalent thereof.
Millie had responded with approximately seventeen exclamation points.
Millie PTA: I bought aprons!!!
Millie PTA: IS THAT TOO MUCH??
Millie PTA: I ALSO GOT VANILLA BEANS BECAUSE I WANT TO BE FANCY
I grinned.
Me: Vanilla beans are never too much.
Me: We shall become unbearably fancy together.
Millie PTA: omg I’m so excited
Millie PTA: also thank you again for talking to me at the bake sale
Millie PTA: making friends as an adult is terrifying
She was right. It was terrifying. I had spent so long existing quietly at the edges of people’s lives. Always temporary and detached.
And now suddenly I had?—
Friends.
Children who trusted me.
A man I desperately wanted to kiss again.
“Well,” I murmured. “This is new.”
The rain had stopped by the time I cleaned the kitchen and extinguished most of the lights. The cottage settled into nighttime silence around me. Normally, I would have welcomed it. Tonight, the quiet made me restless.
I had just started toward the hallway when a knock sounded at the front door. I froze instantly. Nobody ever came here.
Nobody.
Emil visited occasionally but never unannounced. Millie didn’t know my address. And humans generally avoided remote forest cottages at night unless they were starring in deeply disturbing horror films.
Another knock. Something cold slithered through me. Deep inside, I recognized the energy behind that knock. My body moved toward the door before my mind caught up. Every instinct told me to stop. Every instinct told me to run. Yet something deeper pulled me forward anyway.
I reached the entryway slowly. The porch light shone through the frosted glass beside the door. My hand tightened around the knob. Then I opened it.
Silence lingered for one terrible heartbeat.
“Hello there, Poppet,” a familiar masculine voice drawled from the darkness beyond the porch light. “Did you miss me?”