By the time dinner was ready, the entire house had the loose, giddy feeling of people who’d used up all their energy doing things worth doing.
My children were happy.
I looked at each of them in turn.
Billie sat at the kitchen table in mismatched socks with dirt still somehow trapped beneath one fingernail despite both a bath and an aggressive scrubbing campaign. Senator Crunch occupied the seat beside her atop a folded napkin like an honored guest.
CJ had his notebook open while he ate, occasionally scribbling things down between bites, as if he was terrified the inspiration might evaporate if he didn’t get it down immediately.
Bianca had already assembled half of the mechanical puzzle kit from the museum and kept absentmindedly reaching over to rotate one of the pieces while eating pasta with her other hand.
And yet, Winnie was the one my gaze kept tracking to.
She’d moved around the kitchen calmly, ladling sauce over pasta after surviving a PTA uprising, a museum outing, and a day with my children. Her sleeves were rolled slightly past her wrists now, exposing pale skin and the thin gold bracelet she sometimes wore. She’d taken off her gloves and hat, leaving her wine-red hair pinned back loosely.
She looked tired, but not in a bad way. It was warm around the edges. She was alive in a way I hadn’t seen during those first weeks when she’d seemed composed almost to the point of distance. Now, she laughed easily and teased the kids.
The house had started shaping itself around her presence without any of us noticing when exactly that happened.
“Daddy,” Billie said, “you’re staring again.”
I nearly dropped my fork. “I was not.”
“You absolutely were,” Bianca said.
Winnie knelt next to Billie to help cut food, trying to hide a smile. For some reason, that only made it worse somehow.
Winnie finally sat down beside the kids once everyone else had food, but I noticed her place setting remained empty.
I frowned automatically. “You’re not eating?”
She folded her hands in her lap. “I already had something earlier.”
“That was hours ago.”
“I prefer intermittent fasting.”
CJ glanced up at her. “You fast?”
“Sometimes.”
“What’s intermittent fasting?” Billie asked.
“It means she skips dinner on purpose,” Bianca supplied.
Billie gasped in horror. “That sounds illegal.”
“It’s voluntary,” Winnie assured her.
Winnie was so petite. Not fragile exactly. She was soft, curvaceous, and drop-dead gorgeous. I suddenly had an irrational awareness of how little I’d ever seen her eat, which was weird.
Why was I cataloging her eating habits? It was inappropriate. None of my business. And yet…
“You don’t need to diet,” I said before my brain could stop me.
The table went silent. Bianca slowly lowered her fork. CJ’s eyes widened with visible interest.
Billie’s mouth dropped open. “Daddy thinks Winnie’s pretty.”
