“You should,” she mutters. There’s a small pause before she lifts her mug slightly. “I like Joel’s hot chocolate,” she adds. “That’s why I came down.”
I study her for a second. “Is that all you like?” I ask, my tone quieter. There’s more behind the question than I intended, it’s obvious and I immediately regret it.
A small smile curves her lips. “Ray,” she says lightly, “I’m nearly six months pregnant with your baby. Who exactly is looking at me right now and thinking relationship material?”
I shrug, keeping my expression neutral. “Some men like that.”
She raises a brow. “Well, feel free to point them out.”
I don’t smile, because I don’t like the idea of anyone else even looking in her direction.
“What about you?” she asks suddenly, her cheeks colouring slightly. “Are you seeing anyone?” I shake my head. “Were you?” she presses, then winces slightly. “Sorry. None of my business.”
I glance across the bar, catching Joel’s eye for a split second. He told her.
Of course, he did.
“It didn’t last,” I say flatly. “Barely anything worth mentioning.”
Her gaze lingers on me for a moment, as if she’s deciding whether to believe that.
Neither of us speaks.
But the tension sits there . . .
Thick.
Unresolved.
WYNTER
We’re halfway through breakfast when Ray slides the black card across the table towards me. The gold lettering catches the light. I don’t even touch it.
“I don’t work for you,” I say flatly.
“Nope.”
I glance up at him. “So, why do I need that?”
Instead of answering, he pulls out a second card and slides it over. This one is a credit card. “Because I want you to have them.”
I lean back slightly, folding my arms. “No, thank you.”
His jaw tightens, just a fraction. “You’ll need things for the baby,” he says.
“And I’ll buy them,” I reply. “I saved while I worked for you. I’m not completely broke, and I’ll get a job.”
“You’re not well enough for a job, Wynter,” he says, his tone shifting, firmer now. “And you’re pregnant.”
“Thank you for reminding me,” I mutter. “I would’ve completely forgotten otherwise.”
He exhales sharply, rolling his eyes. “God, I missed your sarcasm.”
“Funny,” I say, taking a sip of my tea.
“I’m serious,” he presses. “You’re not working right now.”
“I’ll go back to the chip shop,” I shrug. “They’ll take me on again.”