CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
WYNTER
The apartment is silent except for the occasional scrape of cardboard across the floor and the quiet music playing from my phone.
It’s almost two in the morning and I gave up on sleep around two hours ago.
Ray’s hours are completely unpredictable. Some nights he’s home by eight. Others, the casino swallows him whole until sunrise.
I’ve started leaving lamps on for him, letting him know that I don’t mind when he comes home. As long as he does. And honestly, I quite like the peace. It gives me time to think about everything. About how settled I’m starting to feel.
I tighten another screw on the half-built chest of drawers in front of me before sitting back with a frustrated sigh.
“Why does every piece of flat-pack furniture hate me?” I mutter.
The nursery is finally starting to look like an actual room now. Cream walls. Soft lighting. Tiny clothes sitting in the bags, waiting to be washed and hung up. And now some of the furniture Ray bought sits spread across the floor in hundreds of confusing pieces.
I hear the apartment door open in the distance just as I’m attempting to decipher the world’s most useless instruction manual.
A minute later, footsteps sound in the hallway. Then Ray appears in the doorway. He stops instantly. His eyes drift around the room slowly. The cot boxes. The drawers. The changing table still half wrapped in packaging.
Then finally to me sitting cross-legged on the floor in one of his old hoodies. Confusion flickers across his face. “I thought you hated this furniture.”
I glance down at the wooden drawers beside me before shrugging slightly.
“I hated that you picked it without me.” Understanding settles across his features immediately.
“But . . .” I run my hand lightly over the smooth cream wood.
“It’s actually really beautiful.” Something softens in his eyes.
“I asked some of your security guys to bring it up from storage earlier,” I admit.
“I wanted to see what it looked like in here.”
He leans quietly against the doorway for a second, watching me.
And there’s something in his expression that makes my stomach flutter.
Like he still hasn’t quite processed the fact I’m building a nursery here with him, and that’s my fault, because I haven’t said the words out loud, I want to stay, but I know he’s hoping it’s what all this means.
Slowly, he shrugs out of his jacket before loosening his tie. “You should’ve made them build it too.”
I gasp dramatically. “Absolutely not.”
His brow furrows as he walks further into the room. “Why not?”
“Because flat-pack furniture is all part of the experience.”
Ray stares at the hundreds of scattered screws and wooden panels covering the floor. Then at me. Then back at the chaos. “You and I have very different definitions of fun.”
I laugh softly.
He crouches beside the drawers, picking up the instruction booklet suspiciously before immediately putting it back down again. “These instructions were clearly designed by psychopaths.”
“Exactly,” I say. “But it’s character building.”
He huffs out a quiet laugh before taking the screwdriver from my hand. “Fine. You read the instructions. I’ll fix things.”
Warmth blooms in my chest as he settles onto the floor beside me in his expensive work trousers like assembling baby furniture at two in the morning is the most normal thing in the world.
And for the next hour, we work side by side. Ray fixes things together while I attempt to decode the diagrams. By the time the drawers are finally standing upright, we both look exhausted.
Ray leans back against the wall beside me with a long sigh while I admire our work proudly.
“See? Fun.”
“I’d rather fight a man with a knife.”
I grin, then I glance sideways at him, taking in the tiredness lining his face. “You should sleep.”
“So should you.”
“I’m nesting,” I argue.
“You’re seven months pregnant, isn’t that a bit early?”
“I’m emotionally nesting.” Ray snorts quietly beside me. I smile to myself before speaking again. “Dale asked if he could take Sebastian fishing this weekend. I told him you’d call him.”
Ray nods immediately. “Good idea. Seb loves fishing.”
I trace my finger absentmindedly along the edge of the drawers. Then before I can overthink it, I ask, “Would you want to come with me somewhere this weekend?”
Ray turns his head towards me. “Where?”
“I thought we could spend some time with Dad,” I continue softly. “And I know you’ve probably had enough of Lucy, but—”
“Yeah,” he says quietly. I blink, releasing a long breath. “I’d like that.” Warmth spreads slowly through my chest, because there was a time not long ago where I genuinely couldn’t imagine Ray willingly stepping into my world like this. Now, he’s doing it without hesitation.
Ray’s eyes drift over my face for a long moment afterwards. And the look in them makes my stomach tighten unexpectedly.
“What?” I ask quietly.
He shakes his head once, almost to himself. Then slowly, he reaches over and brushes a strand of hair from my cheek with his thumb. The touch sends warmth rushing through me instantly.
Neither of us speaks.
We just sit there on the nursery floor staring at each other while the city glows faintly beyond the windows.
My pulse starts hammering quietly beneath my skin as Ray’s gaze drops briefly to my mouth. Then lifts again. I shift slightly closer without even realising I’m doing it. His hand slides gently to the side of my neck, warm and careful, his thumb resting just beneath my jaw.
“Wynter,” he murmurs softly.
The way he says my name nearly undoes me. And when he leans in this time, I don’t pull away, I meet him halfway.
The kiss is soft at first. Tentative.
Then Ray exhales quietly against my mouth, and something in him gives way. His hand tightens slightly at my neck as he kisses me deeper, slower, like he’s been wanting this for far longer than he ever intended to admit.
Warmth floods every inch of me instantly.
I slide my hand into his hair without thinking, and the sound that leaves him—low and rough in the back of his throat—makes my stomach flip violently. It’s like all the emotion we’ve both been trying to hold back has finally manifested into this moment.
Ray pulls back just enough for our foreheads to rest together, both of us breathing slightly unevenly. His eyes stay closed for a second longer before he finally looks at me, and the emotion in them steals the air from my lungs completely.
“I missed you,” he whispers softly.
I smile, my eyes filling with happy tears as I nod in agreement.
RAY
By the time we pull onto the quiet street, I’m already out of my comfort zone, even though I’ve spent the entire drive pretending otherwise.
“You’re doing that thing again,” Wynter says softly from the passenger seat.
I glance sideways at her. “What thing?”
“The jaw thing.”
I loosen my teeth immediately. Traitorous body. “I’m fine.”
“You look like you’re heading into a hostage negotiation.”
I huff out a quiet laugh despite myself and pull the car up outside a modest semi-detached house with cream walls and overflowing flowerpots beneath the windows.
It’s nothing like the places I’m used to visiting. No gates. No security. No polished perfection. Just . . . home. The kind I used to picture when I was a kid.
Warm yellow light spills through the downstairs windows onto the drive, and even before we get out of the car, I can see movement inside.
Wynter smiles softly beside me as she unclips her seatbelt.
“You’ll survive,” she murmurs before climbing out. Easy for her to say.
The second we step onto the driveway, the front door swings open and Alec is standing there. His entire face lights up. “There’s my girl.” He pulls her into a hug immediately, and something tight settles unexpectedly in my chest watching the way she melts into it.
Comfort. Safety. Like she’s home before she’s even crossed the threshold.
Alec kisses the top of her head before finally looking towards me. “Ray.” There’s no hostility in his voice, considering the last time we saw one another, I was taking his daughter under my care.
I step forward, offering my hand automatically. “How have you been, Alec?”
Alec ignores the hand completely and pulls me into a hug too. I freeze. Wynter bursts into laughter beside me. “Oh my god,” she wheezes, “you’ve broken him.”
Alec finally lets me go, grinning. “We’re huggers in this family, son. You’ll adjust.”
Son.
I inhale sharply, then clear my throat awkwardly. “Right.”
Wynter is still openly laughing at me as she takes my hand and pulls me inside.
The house immediately smells like fresh bread, washing powder and tea. It’s warm and welcoming. There are framed photographs lining the hallway walls. Two pairs of shoes kicked off near the radiator and a cardigan tossed over the banister.
Nothing matches perfectly. And somehow it feels more luxurious than every place I own.
Music drifts faintly from the kitchen alongside the sound of cupboards opening and closing.
Lucy appears moments later wiping her hands down her apron.
“Well,” she says, eyeing me carefully, “you still came.”
“I considered turning around.”
She smirks. “Points for being brave.”
Wynter rolls her eyes affectionately and we head into the kitchen.
Alec claps me once on the shoulder. “Ignore her. She’s getting worse with age.”
“I heard that,” Lucy says.
The kitchen is chaos in the best possible way.
Something simmers on the stove. A pie cools beside the window. There’s a half-finished crossword puzzle on the table and a knitted blanket draped over the back of a chair. It screams real life. Messy and comfortable. The exact opposite of the controlled silence I’ve become used to.
And standing here, watching Wynter move around the kitchen like she belongs here—laughing softly while Lucy complains about local roadworks, and Alec asks a hundred questions about the drive—I realise something unsettling.
I want this feeling. This ease.
This normal kind of family.