CHAPTER NINETEEN #2
“Right,” I say, grabbing fresh ingredients. “We’re doing something different and I need your help.”
By the time Wynter walks back in, with her hair damp, everything is set up.
Clean counters. Bowls lined up. Ingredients ready. And the chef standing beside me.
She stops dead in the doorway. “What’s going on?”
I nod towards the counter. “You said you wanted to learn to cook.”
Her eyes flick to the chef, then back to me. “So, you hired someone to teach me?”
“To teach us,” I correct. “We’re both useless.”
She folds her arms, trying not to smile. “This should be interesting.”
“Simple breakfast,” I say. “Scrambled eggs, bacon . . . and pancakes.”
“Pancakes?” she repeats.
“Competition,” I add. “Fluffiest wins.”
Her eyes light up instantly. “You’re on.”
Twenty minutes later and there’s flour everywhere again. But this time, it’s on purpose.
“That’s too much milk,” she says, peering into my bowl.
“You’re just trying to sabotage me,” I reply, whisking faster.
She laughs, bumping her hip into mine as she reaches for the vanilla. “I don’t need to sabotage you. You’re doing that all on your own.”
“Focus on your own disaster,” I shoot back.
“My batter is perfect,” she says proudly.
“Your batter is suspiciously runny.”
“That’s because you don’t know what you’re doing.”
The chef stands back, watching us like we’re a pair of children, occasionally stepping in to correct something before stepping right back out again.
We cook side by side, arguing over measurements, stealing ingredients, nudging each other out of the way. At one point, Wynter flicks flour at me.
I freeze. She grins. “Don’t you dare—”
I grab a handful and toss it straight back at her. She squeals, ducking, laughing as it dusts her shoulder. “Childish,” she says.
“You started it.”
“Because you’re annoying.”
“And yet here I am, winning.”
“In your dreams.”
We line up the plates on the counter.
Two stacks of pancakes. Two plates of eggs and bacon.
“Moment of truth,” I say, folding my arms.
Right on cue, the front door opens and Catherine walks in with Sebastian, both of them stopping when they take in the scene.
“Well,” Catherine says slowly, “this looks . . . interesting.”
Sebastian’s face lights up. “Wynter!” Followed by, “Pancakes!”
“Perfect timing,” I say. “You’re judging.”
Wynter nods. “Be honest.”
Sebastian climbs onto a stool, completely serious now as he picks up a fork. Catherine follows, cutting a piece from each stack.
There’s a long, dramatic pause where they exchange knowing looks like they’ve done this a million times before. Sebastian takes a bite, chewing thoughtfully. Then another from mine.
He nods like he’s making a very important decision. “They’re both good,” he says.
“That’s not helpful,” I mutter.
Catherine smiles, taking another bite before placing her fork down.
“Well,” she says, glancing at Sebastian, “I think we agree.”
Sebastian grins. “Wynter wins.”
Wynter gasps, clapping her hands together. “Yes!”
“Robbery,” I say, shaking my head.
“You’re just a sore loser,” she shoots back, beaming.
Sebastian grabs another pancake. “These are the best.”
“See?” Wynter says smugly.
I glance at the chef, who’s trying—and failing—not to laugh.
“Traitor,” I mutter.
Sebastian’s tucked into my side, with the photo album spread across both our laps.
He’s quiet tonight. Not upset. Just . . . thinking. But the therapist said looking at memories and remembering how Anika was before, will help.
His small finger presses against one of the pictures. “What’s this one?”
I glance down. It was taken on the park. A sunny day before Seb’s fourth birthday. There’s a blanket on the grass. And Anika is laughing at something, with her head thrown back like she didn’t have a care in the world.
“You don’t remember this?” I ask him.
He squints. “A bit . . .”
“You were a nightmare,” I tell him. “Wouldn’t sit still. Kept running off.”
He frowns. “I didn’t.”
“You did,” I say, turning the page. “Your mum had to chase you halfway across the park.”
His mouth twitches. “Did she catch me?”
“Eventually,” I say. “She bribed you with crisps.” It gets a small laugh out of him.
I tap the next photo of Anika behind him on the swings, pushing him so high his feet are nearly level with the bar.
“You loved those,” I tell him. “You refused to get off.”
“I don’t remember,” he mutters.
“You cried when we left,” I add. “Proper meltdown.”
“I did not.”
“You did,” I say, nudging him lightly. “Had to carry you home over my shoulder.”
He studies the picture again, quieter now. “She looks happy,” he says.
“Yeah,” I reply. “She was . . . cos she had you.”
He pauses. “Why can’t I remember it properly?” he asks.
“You were little,” I say. “Some memories come back later, some don’t. And that’s okay.”
He nods, but his fingers stay on the photo. “I miss her,” he says after a moment.
I pull him a little closer, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “I know you do.” My hand rests at the back of his neck, steady. “We all miss her.”
He leans into me. “I wish she was still here.”
“Me too, mate.”
I tap the album again. “That’s why we keep these—so we don’t forget the good bits.”
He glances up. “Will you tell me more?”
“‘Course I will.”
I flip back a page. “This one . . . this was the day you decided you hated sandwiches.”
“I still do.”
“You launched one at me.”
His head snaps up. “Did I?”
“Straight at my face,” I say. “Your mum nearly cried laughing.” He grins at that, and I relax. Seeing him smile is the only thing I need to make my chest feel less heavy.
I’m about to turn the page when I look up and spot Wynter standing in the doorway watching us. I nod towards the couch. “Come join us.”
She hesitates for a second then walks over.
Sebastian spots her and brightens. “Wynter! Look, this was me and Mum.”
She sits beside me, careful at first, like she’s not sure where to put herself. I fix that and my arm goes around her shoulders, pulling her in without thinking, while my other stays around Sebastian.
“He was a menace,” I tell her.
“I was not,” Sebastian argues.
“She doesn’t believe you,” I say.
“I do,” Wynter says, smiling at him. “You look very innocent.”
He beams. I glance between them, then back at the album. “This was a good day,” I say, tapping the photo again. “One of her favourites.” Sebastian leans into me. And although Wynter doesn’t feel quite relaxed, she doesn’t pull away.
We sit there for a bit, flipping through pages, pointing things out, laughing at the little things.
“This is what she wanted,” I say after a while, keeping my voice steady. “Us all together. Happy.”
Sebastian nods, his smile wide. I tighten my arms around both of them, just slightly. “We’re a family,” I add.
Sebastian smiles, settling back into me.
Wynter remains quiet.
Once Seb is tucked into bed, I go back into the living room and spot Wynter staring into space like she often does.
“Drink?” I ask, bringing her from her thoughts.
She shakes her head and pats the space beside her. I hesitate before slowly heading over.
“That wasn’t fair,” she whispers, not quite meeting my eye. “What you said back there to Seb.”
I frown, trying to retrace my words. “That we’re a family,” she reminds me, “Like Anika wanted.”
I stare down for a moment. “It’s true,” I mutter.
She gently places her hand over mine. “I know that’s what you want more than anything,” she says gently. “Especially after the way you grew up. And what you’re doing for Seb,” she sighs, “I think it’s great. It proves that you’re a good man deep down.” She takes a second. “But––”
I’m already shaking my head as I get to my feet. “No. No.”
“Ray, I––”
“No, Wynter,” I say firmer. “I refuse to believe that we can’t have what everyone else seems to get so fucking easily. I’m halfway there,” I cry. “So close. Don’t be the one to break it apart.”
She inhales sharply, her brow furrowing. “I haven’t. I wouldn’t,” she says, “But you did.”
“So, you’re not even gonna give me a chance to make things right?”
“Ray, look at the track record,” she says on a sigh. “You pushed me away and then forced me back. You can’t force this. You can’t make me stay by tugging on my heart strings.”