She looked up at me from far too close, laughing breathlessly from almost falling. Her hair had come loose while she’d danced, dark red strands framing her face.
And her eyes?—
Gold flecks caught in the light green near her pupils under the living room light. I’d noticed them before, just never this close.
My other hand moved automatically to the small of her back to steady her.
She didn’t pull away.
Behind us, Billie screamed, “Ooh.”
I ignored my daughter.
Winnie’s breath hitched softly, and I suddenly became acutely aware that this was the closest we’d been since she’d checked my temperature while I was half-delirious with the stomach flu.
My heart kicked hard against my ribs. “Sorry,” I murmured.
“You don’t need to apologize for catching me.”
“That part was intentional.” The second the words left my mouth, heat crawled up my neck.
Winnie looked startled at that. Not upset, just as aware of every touch between us as I was.
Then CJ yelled from across the room, “Dip her!”
“CJ,” Bianca hissed.
I laughed despite myself. And before I could reconsider, I dipped her.
Winnie burst out laughing, one hand gripping my shoulder while the kids erupted into screaming applause. For one ridiculous, perfect second, she looked completely carefree in my arms.
Then Billie shouted, “Now kiss.”
Reality crashed into me.
“Bedtime,” I announced hoarsely as I released my grip on Winnie. I averted my eyes, not wanting to see her reaction to Billie’s embarrassing outburst.
The children booed. Bedtime itself took forever because everyone had residual energy from sugar and near-romantic parental incidents. By the time the house finally quieted, I was emotionally flattened in the best possible way.
Winnie was in the kitchen, gathering her things. The dishwasher whirred softly behind us. I leaned against the counter, watching her for a second before speaking.
“Thank you.”
She glanced up. “For what specifically?”
“The fundraiser. The museum. Dinner.” I rubbed the back of my neck awkwardly. “All of it.”
The cool, professional distance in her features completely melted away. “They’re wonderful children.”
“They’re exhausting children.”
“They can be both.”
I smiled, and silence fell over us. It wasn’t uncomfortable anymore. Before Winnie, silence and loneliness went hand in hand in this house. Now it was just quiet.
“I want to make it up to you,” I said finally.
Her brows rose. “That’s unnecessary.”
