Total pages in book: 146
Estimated words: 140767 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 704(@200wpm)___ 563(@250wpm)___ 469(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 140767 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 704(@200wpm)___ 563(@250wpm)___ 469(@300wpm)
I look down at his hand and then up and into his blue eyes. They are bright and warm and all the things that turned me into a bumbling teenage girl back in the day.
To distract myself, I try to sneak a peek at Izzy’s face.
“Don’t worry, she’s still asleep,” he adds, still holding his hand out toward me. “And I have a sneaking suspicion that you haven’t eaten much today.”
He’s not wrong. Between juggling a cranky baby and my six-week postpartum appointment and work calls and a showing that I eventually had to cancel, I managed to scarf down half a banana and a granola bar…but that’s it.
“Okay. Yeah.” I nod and place my hand into his. “Let’s do it.”
Remy smiles, and once I’m on my feet, I expect him to let go of my hand, but he never does. He just keeps holding it as he guides us toward the closest exit out of Central Park and onto 84th Street.
“Where are we going?”
“It’s a surprise,” he says and waggles his brows as he places his hand on my lower back and guides the three of us across the street.
“A surp—” I start to ask, but he cuts me off with a smile and a chuckle.
“A surprise that you’ll find out about in exactly two blocks.”
“Is that your way of telling me I don’t get to ask questions?”
“Yep.” He grins down at me. “I know how horrible you are at letting people surprise you.”
“I’m not that bad!” I respond on a giggle and playfully slap his arm.
“The week of your sixteenth birthday, you damn near ruined your own surprise party, Ms. Super Sleuth.”
“You’re being dramatic.”
“You interrogated all of my friends. My brothers. Even my baby sister.”
I bite my lip through a smile. “And Ty almost spilled the beans.”
“Because Ty is shit at keeping secrets, and you basically turn into a fucking CIA agent attempting to sniff out an international spy ring when you’re trying to ruin a surprise.”
“It’s not that I’m trying to ruin a surprise. I’m just nosy.”
“And impatient,” he teases and reaches out to grab my hand again.
“Whatever, Rem.” I roll my eyes, but I also shut my trap because I can’t deny the truth. I’m incorrigible when it comes to surprises. If I have any inkling there’s about to be a surprise of some sort, I can’t stop myself from trying to figure out what it is.
Birthday presents. Christmas. You name it, and I’ve probably ruined many a surprise throughout my life.
We walk another block or so before Remy guides us onto another street, and it’s not long before he’s coming to a stop in front of a rustic-looking brick building.
“Surprise,” he says, and I look at him curiously before allowing my eyes to read the sign above our heads.
“Jacob’s Pickles?”
“You ever been here?”
“No.” I shake my head. “Can’t say I have.”
“Do you still love pickles on your sandwiches as much as you did back in high school?”
I laugh. “I can’t believe you remember that, but yes.”
“Maria, I used to go with you to that little diner near the public library after school because you were obsessed with their chicken sandwiches. Extra pickles on the sandwich and extra pickles on the side,” he repeats my old order. “I even recall a few times you convinced me to play hooky at lunch just so I could help you satisfy your crazy pickle cravings.”
“Excuse me? Crazy cravings?” I put a hand to my hip. “Pickles on chicken sandwiches are everything. Anyone who thinks otherwise needs their head checked.”
Remy just grins. “Well, let me be the first to introduce you to the best fucking pickles that you’ll ever taste in your life.”
My eyes go wide. “I hope you realize those are some big promises.”
“Promises I stand by, Ria.”
Not Maria or Ri. But Ria. That’s what Remy always used to call me back in the day. He was the only one to use that nickname, and when I was a high school girl with first love in her eyes, it felt like everything.
It still kind of does.
I let Remy guide me inside the restaurant, and in a matter of minutes, we’re seated at a cozy booth in the back corner. A request made specifically by the man still wearing Izzy on his chest.
“Here,” I say and hold out both of my hands. “I can hold her while we eat.”
“Ah-ah.” He shakes his index finger at me. “She’s still sleeping. So, we’re good just like this.”
“But how are you going to eat with her strapped to your chest like that?”
“I’ll manage,” he answers without hesitation and hands me a menu. “And you work on figuring out what you want to eat.”
“Are you sure? Because I can—”
“Ria, can you do me a favor?” he asks, and I tilt my head to the side.