The Redo (Winslow Brothers #4) (53)

“Maria?”

Evidently a liar wrote the last book I read, talking about how it gets easier after the newborn stage.

“Maria?” Remy’s voice stresses, his extra effort at getting my attention obvious now.

“Hmmm?” I respond, but I still can’t pull my eyes away from little Henry and his mom as she fights to get him strapped into his stroller.

“You okay?”

I have no idea how long I’ve been sitting here, falling down the rabbit hole of future fears and watching Henry turn into the Incredible Hulk, but the concerned look in Remy’s eyes says it’s been a few minutes too long.

Am I okay? No. Not really. I mean, the current circumstances of my life would probably equate to most people not being okay, but I refuse to drag Remy into my pit of anxious misery. He’s already done enough for me as it is today.

“Yeah, of course.” I offer a little white lie and force a small smile to my lips. “I’m good.”

“I think it’s time for a little change in scenery.” He reaches out to pat a gentle hand to my thigh. “What do you say we go grab an early dinner? I mean, truthfully, you’ve still left me hanging since the first time I asked you.”

I raise a questioning brow. “The first time?”

“After we got trapped in the elevator in Ty’s building,” he expands. “Consider it a redo, kind of like how we got to experience the blackout-elevator situation twice.”

“But only, with this redo, you won’t have to deliver a baby,” I state on a snort. “Because I sure as hell am not going through that again.”

“The only baby in attendance will be this one,” he responds on a soft chuckle and reaches out to brush a rogue piece of hair out of my eyes. “A much more laid-back redo, if you will.”

“Laid-back sounds perfect.”

Remy carefully stands up from the park bench, one hand providing stability on Izzy’s back as he gets to his feet. And then, he holds out his hand toward me. “C’mon, Maria, let’s go enjoy a meal together.”

I look down at his hand and then up and into his blue eyes. They are bright and warm and all the things that turned me into a bumbling teenage girl back in the day.

To distract myself, I try to sneak a peek at Izzy’s face.

“Don’t worry, she’s still asleep,” he adds, still holding his hand out toward me. “And I have a sneaking suspicion that you haven’t eaten much today.”

He’s not wrong. Between juggling a cranky baby and my six-week postpartum appointment and work calls and a showing that I eventually had to cancel, I managed to scarf down half a banana and a granola bar…but that’s it.

“Okay. Yeah.” I nod and place my hand into his. “Let’s do it.”

Remy smiles, and once I’m on my feet, I expect him to let go of my hand, but he never does. He just keeps holding it as he guides us toward the closest exit out of Central Park and onto 84th Street.

“Where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise,” he says and waggles his brows as he places his hand on my lower back and guides the three of us across the street.

“A surp—” I start to ask, but he cuts me off with a smile and a chuckle.

“A surprise that you’ll find out about in exactly two blocks.”

“Is that your way of telling me I don’t get to ask questions?”

“Yep.” He grins down at me. “I know how horrible you are at letting people surprise you.”

“I’m not that bad!” I respond on a giggle and playfully slap his arm.

“The week of your sixteenth birthday, you damn near ruined your own surprise party, Ms. Super Sleuth.”

“You’re being dramatic.”

“You interrogated all of my friends. My brothers. Even my baby sister.”

I bite my lip through a smile. “And Ty almost spilled the beans.”

“Because Ty is shit at keeping secrets, and you basically turn into a fucking CIA agent attempting to sniff out an international spy ring when you’re trying to ruin a surprise.”

“It’s not that I’m trying to ruin a surprise. I’m just nosy.”

“And impatient,” he teases and reaches out to grab my hand again.

“Whatever, Rem.” I roll my eyes, but I also shut my trap because I can’t deny the truth. I’m incorrigible when it comes to surprises. If I have any inkling there’s about to be a surprise of some sort, I can’t stop myself from trying to figure out what it is.

Birthday presents. Christmas. You name it, and I’ve probably ruined many a surprise throughout my life.

We walk another block or so before Remy guides us onto another street, and it’s not long before he’s coming to a stop in front of a rustic-looking brick building.

“Surprise,” he says, and I look at him curiously before allowing my eyes to read the sign above our heads.

“Jacob’s Pickles?”

“You ever been here?”

“No.” I shake my head. “Can’t say I have.”

“Do you still love pickles on your sandwiches as much as you did back in high school?”

I laugh. “I can’t believe you remember that, but yes.”