The Redo (Winslow Brothers #4) (98)

“Flynn, look.” I point. “Over there.”

He follows the line of my finger and then looks back to me, perplexed. “A hot dog eating contest?”

“It’s the perfect way to put this competition to rest.”

Flynn scoffs. “If you’re the one doing it, maybe. I suffer from far too much indigestion. Dais’ll kill me if I come home all fucked up.”

I frown. “Well, shit. I was planning on meeting Maria for dinner later, too. I can’t eat, like, fifty hot dogs.”

Right then, as if he’s been flying below the radar, Reebok appears directly in front of us, meeting our eyes over his shoulder as he adds his name to the hot dog eating sign-up list.

“Fuck, Flynn,” I mutter under my breath at the sight. “He’s throwing down the gauntlet. What are we going to do?”

“I’ll tell you what we’re going to do,” he says simply, shifting Roman to his shoulders, pulling out his phone, and typing resolutely. “We’re going to call in some goddamn reinforcements. There’s a reason Wendy Winslow had so many fucking kids, and we’re about to use it.”

“You’re texting Jude?” I ask, instantly understanding where he’s going with this.

“Has he ever turned down a bet? Or lost a challenge, for that matter?”

Exactly. “He’s the home run we need.”

A few seconds later, Flynn smiles, holding up the phone with Jude’s response for me to see.

Jude: Say no more. I’ll be there in ten, ready to swallow some meat sticks.

I laugh. “I’ve never been surer of two things. One, our brother is deeply disturbed. And two, we got this in the bag.”

Flynn nods. “Have to take the good with the bad.”

“The highs with the lows.”

“The outsourcing with the circumstances.”

“The win with the Jude.”

Flynn jerks up his chin. “And we can just chill with our babies.”

His casual comment makes me still, but it’s not long before I start again. Izzy may not be mine biologically, but technically, she’s not Maria’s either.

And I’ve never seen two people love a little girl as much as we do.

Maybe, just maybe, these stupid little details don’t matter. At least, not to me.

Now, I just have to figure out if they matter to Maria.





Maria

I look at the last message I received from Remy to double-check that I’m at the right place.

It’s safe to say, after waking up a little hungover, the adrenaline that came with the realization of what last night entailed and dealing with Claudia’s inability to schedule showings at the correct time, I could’ve easily gotten my wires crossed.

Remy: Meet us at the Capital Grille around 6. We’ll be coming from Wall Street Station.

With one glance at the sign on the restaurant in front of me, I verify that I am correct.

And a quick peek at my watch later, I realize I’m on time too.

I peer in the direction Remy said he’d be coming from, and I’m finding strangely that, while I enjoy the freedom to do what I need to do without Izzy, I miss her immensely in the time away. I want a snuggle and a sniff of her fresh baby scent and the feel of her warm skin as she nuzzles under my chin.

I miss my girl.

It’s an oddly comforting reminder of my sister and everything she was, and the reason it’s odd is because it doesn’t make me feel sad. It makes me feel hope and connection and love and…lucky.

I could have lost Isabella and Oliver and had nothing of them in return. Instead, I was given the extraordinary gift of having a piece of each of them with me all day, every day.

When I was pregnant, I never would have imagined I’d feel this way this soon. That I’d be able to feel joy and positivity when I looked into Izzy’s eyes. But the truth is, she’s the life I didn’t know I was missing. She’s breathed a new dimension into me.

I scour the sidewalk again, looking for a glimpse of Remy’s dark hair and Izzy’s tiny head, but it’s crowded and cramped with business-pantsuit-wearing commuters, scuttling home or to their final meeting of the day. I don’t know why there are so many corporate minions running around on a Saturday, but it doesn’t matter.

In the distance, though, a balloon in the shape of a butterfly catches my attention. It bounces in the wind, rocketing from one side of the sidewalk to the other on a long, pink-ribboned tail. It looks so out of place with the straitlaced pedestrians below it, and without conscious decision, I feel my lips tip up in delight.

It’s only when the crowd in front of the balloon clears enough to reveal the holder—Remy, of all people—that my smile turns into a guffaw.

Oh, what the heck?

With Izzy in the carrier on his chest, he’s holding the string of the balloon and a bag with a goldfish in one hand, and a huge stuffed animal in the other. Painted animals cover one of his cheeks, and he’s wearing a smile the size of Texas.

What in the land of holy water is going on here?

His face lights up even further as he spots me standing in front of the Capital Grille, and he lifts the arm with the fish and balloons to wave.

I shake my head in laughter as he approaches, hardly able to come up with words.

Remy comes to a stop in front of me, and he shifts his body so I can peek at Izzy inside the baby carrier, her little self still too small to be front-facing just yet, and that’s when I see the baby-sized sunglasses on her teeny, currently sleeping face.