Page 28 of Filthy Little Midlife Fling

Remy sets his bowl down and pulls out his phone. He taps on it a few times, then turns it to face me. An order confirmation stares back, informing me he just bought a cutlery tray from an online retailer. “It’ll be here in the morning. Now eat.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” I tell him, but a smile pokes through before I can hide it.

Remy chuckles and shakes his head. “I did if I ever wanted you to come over with delicious food again.”

“I see how it is,” I grumble, but a warm feeling has spread through my chest. “You’re just using me for my cooking skills.”

“No,” Remy says, eyes on his soup. “Not just your cooking skills.” His eyes glimmer as they meet mine. “I like your organizing skills too.”

I narrow my eyes, which makes him smile. “You’re lucky your kid is cute, Remy, because you’re really pushing it.”

He laughs, then glances toward the hallway that leads to the stairs and sighs. “Yeah,” he says. “I am.”

Earlier, in the garage, I sensed he didn’t want to talk about his nephew. But now I’m in his kitchen and he’s enjoying my food, so I tentatively ask, “Is he with you full time?”

Remy nods and finishes his soup, then puts the bowl in the dishwasher. He straightens and leans against the counter before saying, “My sister and her husband died three years ago,” he tells me. “Car wreck.”

Cold slithers through me as I remember how scared I was before I hit Remy’s tree, and I wasn’t even going that fast when I did. “I’m so sorry.”

“Me too.” He smiles sadly. “I took Danny in; there was no one else.”

“That must have been difficult.”

Remy clears his throat. “It was. I was married at the time, and she decided this wasn’t what she signed up for. We parted ways not long after Danny came to live with us.”

“Oh,” I say, pushing my empty bowl away. “That’s horrible.”

There’s a strange look in Remy’s eyes, full of pain and resignation. He shrugs, then shakes his head. “No. She didn’t want kids. She’d always been sure of that. I thought she was heartless to leave the two of us at a time like that. Now I just think she was protecting herself, and I can’t blame her too much for that.”

I think of my own failed marriage and hum. “That’s very mature of you.”

“Does it make up for the cutlery drawer?”

I meet Remy’s dark gaze, trying to keep my face stern with very little success. “Nothing makes up for the cutlery drawer, Remy.”

Remy laughs, and it’s a raspy, warm sound. He combs both hands through his hair and lets out a breath, then turns to the foil-wrapped tray I left on the counter. “Did you say brownies?”

“Dad?”

We both turn to the hallway to see Danny, pale and groggy, leaning against the corner of the wall. Remy’s next to him in an instant, scooping him up in his arms. Danny’s probably too big to be carried around, but he still rests his head against Remy’s shoulder and lets out a sigh. I can’t blame the kid; if I had a right to rest my head on Remy’s shoulder, I’d sigh too.

He hugs his uncle tight. “I’m thirsty,” Danny mumbles.

“Here. Sit at the table. Audrey brought you some soup to make you feel better.”

“Can I have some ginger ale?”

“Of course, kid,” Remy says, settling his nephew at the table.

I slip off my barstool and put my bowl in the dishwasher next to Remy’s. “I’m going to head out,” I tell him as he ladles soup into a third bowl for Danny.

He glances over at me, a surprised expression on his face. It only lasts a second, and then he wipes his face clear and nods. “Of course. Thanks for the food.”

I smile and touch his arm. His skin is warm and smooth, and his muscles are hard. “See you tomorrow,” I tell him.

“Tomorrow,” he replies, and then I make my way out of his house and into mine.

As I prepare a mug of chamomile tea and settle into the comfy armchair I’ve set up in the reading nook in my living room, my thoughts turn over the day, inspecting it like a rare diamond.

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