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,” shecontinued, 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.”
