“Do you?”
“It’s a piano.”
“Correct.”
I was a grown man who had just successfully answered a riddle intended for children. I had no business feeling so absurdly pleased with myself, yet I did.
“Your reward,” she said solemnly, “is a truly terrible joke.”
I let out a long-suffering sigh.
“What kind of doctor is Dr. Pepper?”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Why am I afraid to hear the answer?”
“A fizzician.”
The groan that came out of me was completely involuntary and completely unstoppable.
Winnie laughed softly.
And there it was again. That strange, impossible feeling. Warmth coupled with guilt. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d laughed at a woman’s joke, the last time I’d simply enjoyed a moment between two adults.
Winnie took another step down the porch steps. “Well, I’m going to head home so you can get some sleep and be well-rested in the morning.”
I laughed. The sound escaped before I could stop it.
Winnie looked mildly concerned. “What’s so funny?”
“Sorry. It’s just...” I shook my head. “The idea of me being well-rested is genuinely funny.”
“You look exhausted.”
“That’s because Iamexhausted.”
The professional distance in her gaze completely dissolved. “I can’t imagine how tired you must be.”
I leaned against one of the porch columns. “Honestly, I wouldn’t know how to function if I wasn’t operating some level of exhausted.”
Winnie smiled faintly. “That’s probably not healthy.”
“Oh, it’s definitely not healthy.”
“As long as we’re acknowledging it.”
I rubbed the back of my neck. “At this point, being tired feels like part of my personality.”
“That explains a great deal.” She glanced toward the house. “Do you at least sleep once you get the children settled?”
I snorted. “Not really.”
Her eyebrows lifted.
“I have insomnia.”
She leaned closer, as if something about the wordinsomniahad piqued her interest. “Really?”
“Some nights are better than others. Some nights I stare at the ceiling wondering whether I remembered to answer an email three days ago.”
