The Redo (Winslow Brothers #4) (99)

He waves Izzy’s tiny hand at me. “Hi, Mommy.”

The moniker is new, one I haven’t really used myself for fear that it’ll drum up some sort of impostor syndrome, but I’m pleasantly surprised to find out it feels good. She might not be mine biologically, but she’s mine in the sense that she has my whole heart.

Our relationship is complicated—but that doesn’t mean it’s not special. And I’m working on finding a way to be okay with that.

“My God, Remy!” I say now that I’ve had a chance to take full inventory of their display. It’s not one fish, it’s two, the animals on Remy’s cheek are glitter butterflies, and Izzy’s fingernails are painted with a clear-coated bright-pink sparkle polish.

He laughs, completely unfazed by both the ridiculousness of their appearance and my reaction to it. “We had a good day.”

“Where did you go? A carnival?”

He smiles and nods. “Yeah, actually. Downtown. They were having a big street-fair-style party, and Flynn and I decided to give it a shot when we had a scheduling issue with story time at the library.”

“Scheduling issue?”

“Flynn forgot to check if they have one.”

I grin.

“Couldn’t help but think a carnival might be more fun than story time anyway—sensory-wise, at this age, I mean—and well…when we do something, we do it big.”

“Remy, you’re holding fish. That’s not big. That’s gargantuan,” I tease him out of pure joy. “Not sure if you realize, but Izzy girl here isn’t going to provide an ounce of assistance in keeping them alive.”

“Eh,” he says, waving me off. “Fish are easy and take up no space. It’s about the only pet you can get in Manhattan without typing up a fifteen-page manual of logistics for your landlord. And if it’s a problem at your place, I can take them to mine. No big deal.”

“They’re…fine,” I find myself saying, not wanting to be a wet blanket. “I just wasn’t expecting your day with Izzy to end with new aquatic friends.” I glance at his handsome face covered in glitter and reach up to touch it softly. “This is a bit of a surprise too.”

He smiles again, this time unabashedly. I can’t help but melt into it, right there on the busy sidewalk. “I didn’t want to do Izzy’s without knowing yet if her skin gets irritated easily, so we settled on a little bit of baby-safe nail polish.”

“Please tell me Flynn has glitter butterflies on his face too.”

Big, silent, mysterious Flynn with face paint. I swear I’d pay money to see that.

“Nope.” His face breaks with humor. “He got glitter monster trucks to match the twins.”

I cackle. I can’t help it. “Wow. Big day for the Winslow Brothers’ Daddy Day Care, huh?”

A quick, unexpected pang of weirdness hits me at the idea of calling Remy a daddy in this scenario. The truth is, I don’t know what he is. Or what we are, for that matter. We had sex last night—twice—after drinking an entire bottle of tequila, and he practically lives for taking care of Izzy and me, but beyond that, I have zero clue. Hell, I haven’t even been to his apartment yet.

“Oh, Ri, you have no idea. We got into this battle with another dad until Jude scorched him in the hot dog eating contest.” He waves with one hand in front of him. “It’s a long story that I’ll have to tell you later, but I’ll be damned if the dude didn’t end up shaking our hands in the end.”

Remy is still laughing when I come back from my momentary lapse with reality, me having only half heard his story with something about hot dogs and Jude, and he’s started to move us toward the front door of the restaurant with a fish-filled hand to the small of my back and the other still holding Izzy’s hand in the carrier at his chest and the ribbons of the balloons.

“Flynn went buck wild, to be honest. I think he partied harder with the twins today than he did at any of the Winslow bachelor parties.”

I shake my head to clear it, realizing I’m missing some pretty important shit. I should be laughing at the mental image of Flynn “partying hard” with a group of infants.

Still, as Remy holds the door and smiles at the hostess like the proud head of a young family, I can’t stop my thoughts from swirling entirely.

This thing we’re doing…it’s already complicated. And quite frankly, I’m starting to rely on it pretty freaking heavily.

Remy’s help is central to my schedule these days, and I don’t know what I’m going to do if bringing sex into it is the thing that turns it all on its head.

Like, incredible, had-forgotten-it-existed kind of orgasmic sex. But still. I’ve grown to need him in lots of ways. His friendship. His support. His selfless help.

And I can’t decide if it makes me selfish that I honestly don’t know what I’d do without him at this point.

Remy looks back with crinkled eyebrows as the hostess grabs our menus and heads in the direction of a table. “You coming, Ri?” he asks, suspicion of my distance lurking right under the surface of his friendly face.

I smile then, taking his outstretched hand and walking to our table in the back of the restaurant. I’m not confident that I have any of the answers I’m looking for, and I’m even less sure I’ll get them.