Page 109 of Our Nanny is a Vampire

The crowd erupted again as another performer took the stage, wearing nothing but rhinestones and confidence.

Winnie let out a wolf whistle, which had me gaping at her in shock.

Somewhere between the jazz music, the ridiculous feathers, the smell of bourbon and perfume hanging in the air, and the realization that I was genuinely having fun, something rearranged itself inside me.

Maybe I didn’t have to spend the rest of my life only being useful.

Maybe I could still be a fatheranda person.

Maybe grief didn’t have to hollow out every single space inside me forever.

I had crossed the line between pleasantly buzzed and genuinely drunk.

First, my laughter came a little too easily. Then, I became emotionally invested in a feather-fan routine set to a jazz version of “Toxic.” Finally, I had to renegotiate my relationship with gravity when I stood up too fast after the final act.

Winnie caught my elbow immediately. “You all right there?”

“I’m excellent,” I informed her, though she didn’t seem convinced.

“I’m having depth perception issues,” I admitted after a beat.

“That tends to happen when you’ve had as much to drink as you have tonight.”

“Holy hell. I haven’t been drunk inyears.” The words slipped out before I thought better of them.

A sudden, quiet empathy anchored Winnie’s gaze, though thankfully not into pity. “When was the last time?”

I rubbed one hand over my face. “Probably… the first month after Jade died.”

Her grip on my arm tightened slightly. “Then perhaps tonight was overdue.”

The thing was, I didn’t even feel bad. Embarrassed, maybe. Perhaps a little loose around the edges. Most definitely overly affectionate toward jazz musicians. But not bad.

Winnie drove us home in my car because there was absolutely no universe where I was fit to operate a vehicle. I offered exactly one protest before she leveled me with a stern look and said, “Conrad.”

I handed over the keys immediately.

The ride home blurred pleasantly. City lights passed by the windows, strangely distorted. My eyes drifted to Winnie’s hands on the steering wheel. Her beautiful, pale, sexy hands.

Fuck.

“You’re very pretty,” I informed her.

Winnie sighed without sounding particularly displeased. “You already mentioned that several times.”

“I mean it every time.”

“That’s both flattering and dangerous.”

“I’mdangerous.”

She laughed at that. “Conrad, you are the furthest thing fromdangerous. You apologize when you bump into furniture.”

By the time we pulled into the driveway, I’d entered the deeply sincere stage of drunkenness where emotions were very close to the surface and at risk of spilling out.

The house was dark except for the lamp in the foyer window.

Winnie cut the engine and glanced toward me carefully. “How are we feeling?”