“You have dry cleaners for a reason,” she tells me.
Sebastian points his paintbrush at me seriously. “You have to sing too.”
“I absolutely do not.”
“You do,” Wynter says firmly. “House rules.”
“I wasn’t informed there were rules.”
“That sounds like ayouproblem,” Seb retorts.
I stare at both of them, trying to fight the grin as happiness swells in my chest.
Sebastian folds his arms. “If you don’t sing, you get kicked out.”
I scoff softly. “Threatening your legal guardian seems unwise.”
“Sing or leave,” Sebastian says mercilessly.
Wynter laughs beside me and something in my chest gives way completely at the sound.God help me.I’m completely gone for this woman.
The song changes again as Wynter dips her roller into the paint tray. Then she points dramatically at me when the chorus starts.
“Oh no,” I mutter.
“Oh yes.”
Sebastian starts singing loudly beside her, and despite hating my own voice, the words flow from me like I’ve been bewitched.
Wynter’s eyes immediately snap towards me in triumph.
“There he is,” she says softly.
And as she smiles at me beneath streaks of paint and afternoon sunlight, I realise something terrifying.
I don’t think I’ve ever been happier than I am in this moment.
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.