CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE #2
Wynter catches me watching her from across the kitchen and smiles, like she senses it too. And just like that, I relax.
“Don’t judge me,” Wynter says, lingering by the bedroom door with her hand still wrapped around the handle.
There’s genuine nervousness in her voice now, which only makes me more curious.
I smirk. “I can’t promise that.”
She rolls her eyes before pushing the door open dramatically. “Fine. Enter my teenage trauma.”
I step inside and immediately stop. Pink. An aggressive amount of pink. Pink bedding. Pink cushions. Pink curtains. Even the lampshade looks like it belongs in a Barbie dream house.
I slowly turn my head towards her. “Jesus Christ.”
She bursts out laughing. “I told you not to judge.”
“This explains a lot, actually.”
“Oh, shut up.”
The room itself is small but warm, tucked beneath the sloped roof of the house. Fairy lights hang unevenly above the bed, and when she reaches over to switch them on, the soft glow instantly changes the atmosphere to cosy.
“That made all the difference,” I tease dryly.
“It’s ambience.”
“It’s an electrical fire hazard.”
She grins and tosses a pillow at me before heading towards the dresser. I follow more slowly, taking everything in properly now.
Unlike my room growing up—which had never really been mine—this place is filled with evidence of Wynter everywhere.
Books stacked beside the bed with tatty bookmarks hanging out the edges, marking favourite pages.
Concert tickets tucked into the mirror frame. Perfume bottles crowding the dresser.
There’s a faded university hoodie hanging off the desk chair and a battered teddy bear shoved awkwardly between pillows like she couldn’t quite bring herself to get rid of it.
And photographs.
Dozens of them.
They’re clipped around the mirror in no particular order. Wynter laughing with friends. A younger version of Lucy holding teenage Wynter in a headlock while both grinning at the camera. Alec proudly standing beside a much younger Wynter holding exam results.
And then a woman who looks so much like Wynter it catches me off guard for a second.
Same eyes. Same smile. Just darker hair.
Her mother.
Then my gaze catches on him.
Josh.
The same picture she kept beside her bed at my apartment.
She’s tucked beneath his arm smiling up at him while he looks at the camera like he already knows he’s the luckiest man in the world. Young and happy. Completely unaware of how short life really is.
Wynter notices where my attention lands and clears her throat quietly. “Sorry,” she murmurs, immediately stepping forward. “I forgot that was still there.” She reaches to take the photo down and I catch her wrist gently before she can.
She looks up at me uncertainly. “It’s okay,” I tell her quietly.
She studies my face like she’s checking whether I actually mean it. I do. Because standing here in the middle of her childhood bedroom, surrounded by every version of who she used to be, I realise something important.
Josh isn’t competition. He’s part of her story. Part of what shaped the woman standing in front of me now.
Slowly, she lets her hand fall away from the picture. I tug her gently towards me instead, wrapping my arms around her waist.
“This room is so you,” I murmur against her hair. “Especially the fairy lights.”
She laughs softly into my chest. “They make things feel softer.”
My eyes drift around the room again. The worn carpet. The scribbled notes still pinned above the desk. The old, cracked jewellery box overflowing with tangled necklaces. It feels intimate in a way expensive places never do. Like I’m seeing pieces of her nobody else gets to anymore.
“You were happy here,” I say quietly.
She nods against me. “Mostly.”
I tilt her chin gently until she looks up at me. Then I kiss her. It’s slow and soft. She melts into me almost instantly, her hands sliding beneath my jacket while mine settle against her hips.
And Christ, kissing her in this room does something dangerous to my head.
Her mouth curves slightly against mine before she pulls back just enough to breathe. “You’re thinking too loudly again,” she whispers.
I brush my thumb along her jaw slowly. “Probably because you brought me into your childhood bedroom.”
She laughs quietly. I lean down, pressing one last kiss against the corner of her mouth before forcing myself to step back.
“Now,” I murmur, dragging my eyes over her flushed face, “let’s go downstairs before I do something deeply inappropriate in front of your old One Direction posters.”
She gasps dramatically. “You leave Harry Styles out of this.”
I grin despite myself before grabbing our bags from beside the door and dropping them onto the bed.
“I have to admit something,” Alec says, setting a fresh pint down in front of me. I glance up from the table. “I was worried about you coming here.”
The pub around us hums with quiet life. Glasses clink somewhere behind the bar, football plays silently on the television above us, and a group of older men laugh loudly over a game of darts in the corner.
It feels . . . easy here.
Like people leave their problems outside and come together to relax and unwind. It’s nothing like the bars in London.
I take a sip of my drink before answering honestly. “I was nervous about coming.”
Alec studies me for a long moment over the rim of his glass. And despite every instinct telling me to retreat beneath the scrutiny, I don’t look away. Eventually, a small smile tugs at his mouth.
“You won Lucy over.”
I almost choke on my beer. “Did I?”
He chuckles quietly. “She’d deny it if asked directly, but yes.” He leans back in his chair slightly. “I think seeing you and Wynter together changed something for her.”
Relief settles somewhere deep in my chest. “I’m glad.”
“And if Lucy approves,” Alec continues calmly, “then so do I.”
The sincerity in it catches me off guard. I glance down briefly at my glass before admitting, “Me and Wynter . . .” I pause, searching for the right wording. “We haven’t really put a label on anything yet.”
Because despite everything between us lately, I still don’t fully know what we are, and I’m terrified to ask her in case it pushes her before she’s ready.
And I don’t want him thinking I’m making promises to his daughter that she hasn’t agreed to herself.
Alec scoffs immediately. “You kids are obsessed with labels these days.”
I laugh quietly into my drink. Kids. Christ. Nobody’s called me that in years. “You like her though, right?” he asks.
I don’t even hesitate. “Very much.”
“And she likes you.”
Something softens in my chest at the certainty in his voice. “I think she does,” I admit.
Alec snorts. “Trust me, son. She does.”
Warmth creeps unexpectedly at that word again. Before I can respond, movement catches my eye and Wynter appears beside the table carrying another round of drinks, her cheeks pink from the cold outside.
The second she slides into the seat beside me, something in me settles automatically.
Like my body recognises her before my brain does.
I drape an arm across the back of her chair instinctively, my thumb brushing absently against her shoulder.
She leans into the touch without even thinking.
And Christ. That tiny unconscious movement nearly destroys me.
“I hope you’re being nice,” she says suspiciously.
“I was just asking Ray what his intentions are towards my only daughter,” Alec replies casually.
Wynter’s eyes widen in horror. “Oh my god, Dad.”
I laugh softly beside her, rubbing my thumb slowly at the back of her neck as she groans into her hands. “Don’t worry,” I tell her. “I told him I’m deeply and madly in love with you.” The words leave my mouth effortlessly, like they’ve been waiting there for weeks.
Silence falls instantly around the table. Wynter’s head snaps towards me so fast her hair brushes my arm. And only then do I realise what I’ve actually said out loud.
Alec’s brows lift slightly and Wynter just continues stares at me wide-eyed and breathless.
I should probably panic but instead, I laugh quietly. “What?” I ask lightly. “Have I not said it yet?”
Her lips part slightly, but no sound comes out. And somehow seeing Wynter speechless is the most satisfying thing I’ve experienced in years.
Lucy appears beside the table then, rubbing her hands together dramatically.
“It’s bloody freezing out there,” she mutters. “Thank God the house is only across the road.” She pauses, looking between us suspiciously. “Why does it suddenly feel weird over here?”
Alec grins into his pint. “Wynter’s temporarily lost the ability to speak.”
Lucy gasps theatrically. “Should we call somebody?”
But I barely hear any of it, because my eyes are locked onto Wynter’s. And she’s still staring at me like the world’s tilted slightly off its axis. Her cheeks are flushed more now, her breathing shallow.
I lean closer slowly, the noise of the pub fading into the background completely until it feels like there’s only me and her.
“I do, yah know,” I murmur quietly against her ear. She shivers softly beside me. “Love you.”