“Oh my god,” Winnie says once she has hefted the ancient glass high. Cold, wet air sweeps in, and droplets from the latest drizzle hit Winnie’s face. “What are you doing here?” “I need to talk to you.” “No, I mean, here. On my roof and at my window. We have a front door.” “Your mom’s light was off. I didn’t want to wake her.” What he doesn’t add but that Winnie intuitively understands is Or have her wonder why I’m here at this hour to talk to you.
