Page 325 of The Winslow Brothers

I chuckle.

Me: Lol. Yeah. It is.

Rachel: Well, have fun partying it up today.

Me: Ha. Yeah. It’s about to get real wild.

Rachel: Okay, I’m too curious not to ask. What kind of gift does a single guy bring to a baby shower?

What? A gift? Isn’t my presence gift enough?

Me: Why would I bring a gift?

Rachel: Because that’s what you do at baby showers. You bring the mom gifts.

Me: For real?

Rachel: OMG. LOL. You are such a guy.

Is she telling the truth? I’m supposed to bring a fucking gift?

Me: Seriously, Rachel? What kinds of gifts are you talking about here?

Rachel: Baby kinds of gifts. Diapers. Onesies. Bottles. She should have a registry.

Me: A registry???

Rachel: Oh my God. Forget the registry. Just go get some baby stuff. Two onesies. Pack of diapers. Some baby wipes. It’s really that simple.

Me: What the fuck’s a onesie?

Rachel: LOL. This just keeps getting better and better.

Me: For you, maybe. For me? It’s getting worse and worse. Seriously, Rachel, what’s a onesie?

Obviously, when it comes to babies, I don’t know shit. My niece Lexi could cogitate before she was a year old, so she basically skipped the infant thing altogether. Plus, I wasn’t exactly the first person in line when Winnie was looking to leave her in someone’s care. Remy and Flynn have always been atouchmore responsible than me.

Rachel: Baby clothes. If you go to any store that has baby clothes and find the nearest woman and ask her to show you the onesies, you’ll find them.

I chuckle to myself, but then I realize I’m still texting with her like we’re old pals. Like there is nothing in the world to be concerned about. Just…texting it up like two peas in a sexual-tension-filled pod that I’m trying to pretend doesn’t exist.

And then I also check the time and see that I have exactly two hours to find a damn gift and get to Daisy’s shower.

Overwhelmed, I immediately tuck my phone back into my pocket, walk down the hall to my kitchen, grab my wallet and shit from the counter, and head right out the door.

I’m not bothering with driving today because parking in the city is a pain in the ass and my head’s not ready to dance with ragingtaxi drivers. Surely I can find a shop in my neighborhood that sells baby shit and take the subway to Daisy’s shower.

Daisy’s baby-themed party is hopping. What feels like everyone in the damn city is here, inside one of the lavish reception rooms at the Beekman Hotel, ready to celebrate the upcoming arrival of two more Winslow boys.

I have a feeling my sister-in-law Sophie was behind the planning of this event. That much is probably evident by the way she’s scurrying around the room, making sure the caterers are keeping the buffet of appetizers stocked.

I grab a beer from the open bar and look across the room to find Flynn and Daisy greeting their guests as they arrive. They stand by the table that’s covered in gifts, hugging and shaking hands with everyone. Every few moments, Flynn leans down and presses a kiss to his wife’s forehead or rubs his hand over her round belly, and Daisy always gives him the same sweet smile in return.

Love sure is a motherfucker, isn’t it? It can take down even the most stubborn of men.

Well, besides me.Obviously.

My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I pull it out to find a text that makes me grin.

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