CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
WYNTER
We leave the café twenty minutes later with takeaway cups in hand and the smell of bacon still clinging to our clothes.
Ray holds the door open for me, his expression unreadable as he scans the street automatically before stepping out behind me. I notice it now, the way he’s always looking, checking for danger. Protecting me. And it’s not because he thinks I’m incapable, he’s just convinced himself it’s his job now. And after hearing parts about his childhood, I understand it better.
“You’re thinking too loudly again,” he says beside me.
I blink up at him. “Is that your polite way of saying I’m annoying you?”
“It’s my polite way of saying you’re staring at me.”
Heat creeps into my cheeks instantly. “I wasn’t staring.”
“You absolutely were.”
I roll my eyes and take a sip of coffee to avoid answering.
The city feels quieter now. The rush of earlier fading into scattered taxis, distant sirens and the occasional burst of laughter drifting from dark corners.
Beside me, Ray loosens his coat slightly, the cold air turning the tips of his ears pink. Strangely, that little detail almost humanises him in my head. Not the vulnerable confessions, or the stories about care. But pink ears.
I smile to myself.
“What?” he asks immediately.
“Nothing.”
“That smile says otherwise.”
I shake my head, still grinning as we walk.
For the first time since I moved here, London doesn’t feel lonely and the realisation catches me off guard. I haven’t had a sad thought all day. The heaviness that’s been holding me in its vice like grip for months, is lessening.
My shoulder brushes Ray’s accidentally as we turn a corner, and instead of moving away immediately, I hesitate. So does he, and the silence between us shifts slightly.
I glance down briefly at his hand swinging beside mine. He’s got strong, masculine hands. Hands that held my feet earlier like I was something precious. The thought makes my stomach flutter embarrassingly hard and before I can stop myself, my fingers move slightly closer to his.
Not touching.
Just . . .
Close.
Ray notices instantly. His gaze flicks downward before lifting to my face briefly, with a silent question. Then, slowly and carefully, his fingers slide between mine.
The contact steals the breath from my lungs. The strangest thing is it feels natural. Like somehow, we’ve done this a hundred times before. His hand is warm around mine, steady and grounding as we continue walking through the sleeping city.
“You’re quiet,” he murmurs.
I glance up at him. “I’m thinking.”
“Dangerous.”
I smile faintly before asking the question that’s been circling my head all night. “What was it really like?”
His brows furrow slightly. “What?”