Page 553 of The Winslow Brothers

But Lexi puts that insanity out of my mind when she utilizes my phone to pull up a video. “This is her. Cleo.”

Like a fool, I watch the brief clip. The woman is talking to a crowd of people and is the very opposite of the Cleo I know. She’s far too fucking commercial, if I’m being honest, and I’m both relieved and confused as hell.

Looks like C’s texts are starting to get under your skin there, buddy. Maybe making you look a little deeper into your current man-of-the-house situation?

I kind of want to punch myself in the face.

Cleo’s texts aren’t doing jack shit to me. I know what I’m doing with Maria, and I don’t need some coo-coo-ca-choo fortune-teller causing confusion where there most certainly doesn’t need to be confusion.

The obnoxious voice in my head whispers,Are you sure about that?But I shake it off.

Yes, Maria and I haven’t exactly defined anything, but we’ve been enjoying each other’s company, enjoying Izzy, living our lives together without putting pressure on ourselves to label it.

What we have is good. What we have is right. Nothing can change that.

I, Remington Winslow, know exactly what the fuck I’m doing here.

Right?

Saturday, November 9th

Maria

The morning sun is peeking through the curtains of my walk-in closet as I attempt to fold the basket of clean laundry that’s been sitting in here for the past two days. Just fitting in a few mundane chores, if you will, before Remy and Izzy and Lexi wake up and all of the responsibilities of the day get ahead of me.

How is it possible for one little person to create so much dang laundry?I think to myself as I stack Izzy’s onesies in a pile on the floor.

But before I can shift them over to her dedicated hamper so I can put them in her nursery, my attention is pulled by a soft but sleepy whisper behind me.

“Hi, Maria. Is Izzy up yet?”

I look over my shoulder to see Lexi standing in the doorway in her pajamas, her blond hair still an adorable mess from just waking up.

“She’s still sleeping,” I explain. “But you’re up pretty early, sweetheart. Did you sleep okay?”

“I’m always up this early.” She shrugs and shuffles her slipper-covered feet farther into my closet to sit down on the cozy chaise sofa Remy put in here a couple of weeks ago in the name of making it easier for me to juggle Izzy while I’m trying to get ready for work.

But she only stays seated for about two minutes before she’s up and perusing the contents of my closet. First, my shoes, then my dresses, and when she reaches a row of button-down dress shirts, she pauses to look at me. “You have a big closet. Anda lotof clothes.”

“That I do.” A soft laugh jumps from my lips. “I guess you could say shopping is a bit of a hobby of mine.” Or at least, itwas. I haven’t had much shopping time since Izzy made her big debut.

And having a massive walk-in closet was a must when I’d saved enough money to buy my own apartment. A girl needs a giant place to fit all of her retail therapy.

“Shopping can be a hobby?” Lex asks, and I nod with big, sure-as-hell eyes.

“Oh yeah, honey. Shopping can definitely be a hobby.”

“Then, shopping is one of my mom’s hobbies, too.”

I grin. “Does she have a closet like mine?”

“Yep.” Her fingers skim across the shelves that hold my accessories—belts, necklaces, bracelets, earrings, and purses. “I’m beginning to see the appeal of fashion,” she adds, her voice so prudent for a girl her age that it makes me smile.

Man, I love this kid.

“I take it you didn’t see the appeal before?”

“Nope.” She shakes her head. “I thought it was dumb that Mom would want to spend so much money on something to wear.”

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