That did not mean anything larger was happening. And even if it did?—
No.
Absolutely not.
I knew better than anyone what happened when immortals confused temporary belonging with permanence. I’d spent nearly two centuries learning exactly how much attachment a person could survive losing.
By the time I arrived at the Lawrence house Monday morning, I had successfully convinced myself I was perfectly composed again. The confidence lasted approximately forty-five seconds.
The children were behaving suspiciously. Billie bounced in her chair hard enough that the legs squeaked against the hardwood floor every few seconds, and CJ and Bianca kept exchanging meaningful looks.
Conrad also noticed it. He stood at the counter, pouring coffee into a travel mug, his eyes narrowed at his children. “What are you plotting?”
“We’re not plotting,” Bianca said.
CJ nodded solemnly. “This family has developed an unfair bias toward plotting.”
Billie slapped her hands over her mouth.
Conrad looked alarmed. “Why are you covering your face?”
“I almost telled.”
“Told,” Bianca corrected automatically.
CJ sighed heavily. “The English language is dying before our eyes.”
I slipped off my gloves slowly while studying the three children. They practically vibrated with contained energy. If this had been our first week together, I would have assumed they were preparing psychological warfare. Now, though, I knew the difference between malicious chaos and excited chaos.
This was excited chaos.
Conrad shook his head and returned to his coffee.
He looked good this morning, far less tense than he had months ago. Less exhausted around the eyes. Softer. The weekend stubble along his jaw certainly didn’t help matters. Neither did the memory of him laughing in the speakeasy.
I looked away immediately.
Dangerous. This was very dangerous.
“Text me if someone catches fire,” Conrad said, picking up his briefcase.
Billie raised her hand. “What level of fire?”
“Any level of fire.”
His eyes flicked toward me. It was barely a second, a glance that most people wouldn’t have noticed. So help me God, I noticed. He looked away so quickly and deliberately, I wondered if he was also remembering the raw emotion of the other night.
Neither of us had acknowledged it since. Which somehow made it worse.
Once the children left for school, quiet settled over the house. Usually, I enjoyed it, but today I missed their noise and chaos.
I spent the morning in the kitchen, reorganizing the refrigerator and planning lunches for the week. Eventually, though, exhaustion overtook my desire to take care of the little details that’d been overlooked in my three-day absence. I retreated to my casket and slept so deep that I was disoriented when I woke. Then I saw the time. “Oh dear.”
I sat upright immediately. The children would be arriving home from school any minute. I hurried through my usual routine with practiced efficiency, adjusting my sleeves and securing myhair as I walked into the house. I’d just got myself calm and settled in the kitchen when the front door burst open.
“Winnie,” Billie screamed.
“In here!”
