I freeze halfway through cracking an egg. “You did what?”
He shrugs again, utterly unbothered. “I thought she’d stop asking if I said that.”
I stare at him. “Sebastian . . .”
He tips his head. “White lies are okay.”
I narrow my eyes. “Are they?”
Before he can answer, a deep voice cuts in from behind me. “A lie’s a lie.” I jump so hard, I nearly drop the egg.
Honestly, one of these days, Ray is going to sneak up on me and send me into cardiac arrest.
He strides into the kitchen. “But,” he adds, looking at Sebastian, “I appreciate you looking out for me, kid.” Sebastian beams, then Ray’s expression shifts. “Why are you home from school?” he asks. “And where’s Alga?”
My pulse spikes. Sebastian answers first, far too proudly. “I was sick. In Dad’s car.”
Ray lets out a laugh and holds up his hand for a high five. “Well played.” His eyes come to me. “How did he get home?”
My stomach drops, and I force myself not to hesitate. “Luke brought him,” I say, keeping my voice as steady as I can. “I met him outside.”
The lie feels huge the moment it leaves my mouth. I don’t dare meet his eyes for more than a second, terrified he’ll see the truth written all over my face.
He studies me for a beat that feels far too long, then says, “Okay. And Alga?”
“She went to do a food shop since she didn’t need to collect Sebastian from school. I said I’d watch him.”
Another lie. Smaller but still enough to make my skin prickle.
If he ever finds out, I’m dead. Not literally. Probably.Hopefully.
“And what are you two doing?” he asks, stepping closer.
He leans over my shoulder to peer into the bowl, and the heat of him at my back sends a flutter through my stomach that I absolutely do not want to examine too closely.
“Wynter’s teaching me to bake a cake,” Sebastian says proudly.
“Is she?” Ray asks, scepticism dripping from every word.
I laugh despite myself. “I can make cakes.”
A small smile tugs at his mouth. It catches me off guard. I’m so used to the scowls and clipped replies that the expression almost changes his whole face.
He takes a seat opposite us at the island, his long legs stretching out beneath the stool.
“Uncle Ray, show Wynter your Eminem impression,” Sebastian says, grinning.
To my surprise, Ray actually laughs. It’s real, warm and unexpected. The sound skims over my skin and leaves goosebumps in its wake.
He shakes his head. “I told you, kid. That’s for your eyes only.”
I blink at him, trying and failing to picture Ray Carmichael bouncing around a room rapping to Eminem.
“Uncle Ray grew up on the streets,” Sebastian announces importantly.
Ray’s smile disappears, but before he can say anything, Sebastian flicks the mixer on and flour explodes everywhere. I watch in horror as butter spatters across the island.
For one second, nobody moves.
