The Redo (Winslow Brothers #4) (104)

I climb the final staircase to our floor and unlock and shove open the door quickly, closing out the blizzard-like cold of winter behind me as fast as I can.

“Isabella,” I call out as I remove my jacket and toss my purse, keys, and backpack down in the catchall area of our entryway. “Isabella!” I shout for her again, only this time, my voice is much louder.

“In the kitchen, Ri!”

Wait, the kitchen? Please tell me she hasn’t decided to try her hand at baking and rebelling against authority.

Isabella might be nearing twelve now, but she’s liable to burn down our whole building with how easily she gets distracted. She’s unbelievably book smart, but when it comes to common-sense life stuff, she has the attention span of a squirrel.

Quickly, I slip off my brown boots and pad down the hallway, my sights set on the kitchen and a hopefully empty oven.

But what I find there is not at all what I expect. The oven isn’t empty, and neither is a single square inch of the counter.

“My God,” I whisper into the untidy space and the sight of Isabella, Remy, and Winnie baking in holiday-themed aprons. “What on earth is going on here?” I ask, my eyes scanning the current state of the kitchen. It’s an absolute mess—sprinkles, icing, bowls, and all sorts of baking utensils and ingredients are everywhere.

Dreaded thoughts of cleanup disappear in a poof! of air, though, as soon as I look back to them. Their smiles could fill a cruise ship, they’re so big.

“Maria! You’re home! Look! We’re baking cookies!” Winnie exclaims proudly, and Isabella lifts a cookie in the shape of a snowman to prove the point.

“You have to try our snowman sugar cookies, Ri. You’ll love ’em.”

“Hey, babe. How did the big chem midterm go?” Remy asks, his smile taking on a more knowing edge as he scrubs his hands down the front of his apron and closes the distance between us.

“Good, I think… But I thought I wasn’t going to see you until tonight?” I question, and he shrugs.

“I figured since I didn’t have any exams today and I knew your mom was at work and you would be busy until noonish with your midterm, Winnie and I could come over and keep Isabella company until you were done.”

It sounds like such a simple thing, him baking cookies with our sisters, but it’s not.

Remy could’ve slept in today or hung out with some of his buddies or done pretty much anything he wanted, but he decided to entertain our sisters. Entertain my sister, so she wouldn’t have to be alone.

He could’ve chosen to do a hundred different things, but he chose to be here.

“I love you,” I blurt out, the words shooting past my lips before I can even think about it, and his smile migrates up his face until it’s inside his eyes.

“I love you too, Ria.”

This doesn’t even come close to the first time we’ve exchanged I love yous, but in this moment, it’s like I can actually feel it more than I’ve ever felt it before.

Flutters of the Bible quote that starts with “Love is patient, love is kind” whisper through my mind, but I can’t remember how the rest goes.

But it doesn’t matter.

Because right now, I know love is Remy baking cookies in the kitchen with our sisters. It’s Remy making sure Isabella was okay while I was at my midterm without my even having to ask him.

It’s all of the things he does and all of the things he makes me feel.

Love is this.

“Ugh! Remy, I need help!” Winnie announces, and she scrunches up her face in disgust when the cookie she’s holding slips from her hand and falls icing-first onto the table. “Oh no!”

“Looks like I better get back to baking duty.” Remy sighs, but he also laughs. And then he presses one soft peck of his lips to mine and pulls me into a quick hug before releasing me to go help his sister.

I just stand there, watching the boy I met over a year and a half ago, the one who looks more like a full-fledged man each day, knowing I am really, truly, deeply in love with him.

I love Remington Winslow. Period but, hopefully, not end of story.

Fingers and toes and everything crossed.





Friday, November 8th

Remy

It’s Friday night, and I’m not out at a damn club or at some bar grabbing a drink with one of my buddies or brothers. I’m not even sitting in my home office, alone, overworking myself despite the fact that the markets won’t open for another forty-eight hours.

I’m at home with Maria and Izzy and Lexi and two goldfish that have somehow managed to survive four weeks of life with us, despite the fact that both Maria and I often forget about them.

And I’m actually fucking happy.

Man, life sure has changed. In the best way possible.

Maria moves in the kitchen, pulling plates down from the cabinets and setting them on the counter with silverware. Spaghetti sauce bubbles in a pan to her right, and the garlic bread baking in the oven fills the kitchen with an irresistible aroma.

I glance back at her occasionally, just to be sure she doesn’t need any assistance, and help Izzy pretend to fly. Three months old now, she’s gaining an incredible amount of head and neck control with every day that passes. Her first real smile, her first tiny giggle, Izzy girl is hitting a lot of milestones these days, and flying through the sky has become one of her favorite games.