Page 241 of The Winslow Brothers

“Yes,” I answer, and it doesn’t feel like a lie at all. It just feels…I don’t know…right?

“Good. That’s good, darling. If you’re happy, then I’m happy.” Gwen smiles. “Okay, well, I’ll definitely be talking to you soon.”

“Definitely.”

“And one more thing…” She pauses and drops her voice to a whisper. “Is Flynn nearby?”

I shake my head. “In the bedroom. Getting dressed.”

She waggles her brows. “After seeing that man in a towel, I can’t blame you for marrying him. I would’ve done the same.”

“Gwen!”

She winks. “Kisses, darling!”

And then she’s gone, off the screen and leaving me standing in the kitchen, trying to wrap my head around what just happened.

You managed to tell Gwen you’re married…but you didn’t tell her why you got married. So basically, you’re still lying to her…

I lean my head back and blow out a breath.

“You okay, babe?” Flynn’s voice snags my attention, and I find him standing in the kitchen again, but fully dressed for the day.

“I will be once you take me for a big fat pancake breakfast with all the fixins.”

He quirks a brow. “Why do these pancakes seem like penance?”

“Because they are. First, for being an accomplice in my big marriage reveal to Gwen. And second,” I say and pointedly tug the collar of my robe down to show him all the glorious marks he left on me last night. “These.”

He smirks when he sees the tops of my breasts and then shakes his head. “You were going to have to tell Gwen at some point, and you can’t even pretend to not like those hickeys. Astronauts are taking photos of your smile right now from space.”

“Okay, so I might like the hickeys.”

“Then why are you trying to start an argument?”

“Look, Flynn, sorry to break it to you, but you married an occasionally crazy person who sometimes is irrational, and since you were the one who helped me break the news to Gwen and blessed me with all these hickeys and orgasms last night, I’m making you take me to breakfast.”

“Okay,” he says and shrugs. “Pancakes it is.”

No questions. No rebuttals. Not even an annoyed sigh.

Just…okay.

Sometimes, Daisy, this man is so perfect for you, it’s as if you made him up in your head.

We’ve been walking for a few blocks, in the direction of a restaurant Flynn said will cure my pancake breakfast cravings, and I’ve yet to feel anything but content. There’re plenty ofpeople milling about the sidewalks, going into shops or grabbing a coffee or whatever it is they plan to fill their weekend with, and I find myself second-guessing my original conclusion that Los Angeles is where it’s at.

After being in New York for a while now, I’m starting to wonder what my life would be like had I started my American dream venture here. Would I be happier? Feel more at home?

You already know the answer to that question, sis.

I can’t refute the appeal of a Saturday morning in New York. Even dreaded Mondays feel different here. This city has a vibrancy, an undeniable pull that makes you want to be a part of it. It’s why people from all over the world travel here to experience it for themselves. There’s just something about this town that makes you feel alive, as if anything is possible.

A cool spring breeze brushes against my face and urges a shiver to roll up my spine. I wrap my arms around my chest a little tighter, tucking my sweater closer to my body.

“Here,” Flynn says, and I look over to find him taking off his black leather jacket and wrapping it around my shoulders.

“Nope. No way,” I refute and try to give his jacket back to him, but he wraps one strong arm around my shoulders and makes it impossible. “I can’t wear your ‘I’m a hot, bad boy jacket.’”

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