Page 276 of The Winslow Brothers

“Whaaaaaaat?”

“Twins! I’m going to have two more grandbabies!”

“Dude, this is nuts!”

And all I can do is stand there, holding my wife’s hand against my chest, and look at the two profiles of Daisy’s and my babies.

Twins. My wife is having twins.

“Flynn…I don’t even know what to say,” Daisy whispers, and I lean down to press a kiss to her lips.

“Me either.” A shocked laugh escapes my lips. But when I stare into her eyes, a thin sheen of emotion blurs my vision. “I love you.”

Her lip quivers. “I love you too.”

“We usually have to wait until your twenty-week ultrasound to find out what you’re having, but Daisy, I know the sex of your babies. Would you like me to tell you?” Dr. Summers asks, and Daisy nods.

“You’re having two boys, and since they share a placenta, I’m pretty sure they’re identical.”

And just like that, the room is back to chaos.

“Two more Winslow boys! Holy shit! Watch out, world!”

“I can’t believe this!”

“You owe me fifty bucks, bro!”

But when I look down at my wife with tears welling up her eyes and a smile cresting her lips, I swear, she’s never looked more beautiful or happy than she does right now.

Damn, this woman, she’s made my life.

“Well, I guess this all only really leaves me with one option,” Ty says cryptically, stealing the thunder in a room full of showboats.

“And what’s that?” Winnie asks smartly, a sarcastic grin lighting up her space.

Ty scoffs. “To fall in love, obviously,” he says with aduh-like shake of his head. “And to do it bigger and better than the rest of you.”

Famous last words, bro. Joking or not, those are someveryfamous last words.

THE END

Monday, April 22nd

Ty

I can’t believe I’m in Staten Island to seek out a fortune-teller.

Who would have thought that the land of the former world’s biggest dump is also the home to long-sought-after answers?

Gravel crunches beneath the tires of my Range Rover, and I pull to a stop in front of an old, worn-out brick building.

I’ve officially left my normal haven of skyscrapers and busy sidewalks and entered the place that birthed famous mobsters and Angelina fromJersey Shore.

Personally, I have no doubts the charlatan I’m here to find fits right in.

The early afternoon sun pushes through my windshield, and I have to squint as I cut the engine and look up at the shabby pile of bricks that took me nearly three months to find.

Two familiar words glow in red above the front door—Fortune Teller.

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