Me: I’ll reach out to the listing agent now.
I quickly shoot Carl Morrow, the penthouse’s listing agent, an offer via text, but once I hit send, I don’t wait impatiently for his response like I normally would. Instead, I open my chat with Remy.
Me: How is Izzy? Are you still surviving?
Simultaneously, my phone chimes with two messages, one from Carl and one from Remy. I open Remy’s first. Inside our chat, I only find a photo. It’s a picture of Izzy, sleeping peacefully, with a note taped to her chest. I’m a very happy hostage. （Not fussy at all because I’ve been a little angel all day.） PS: You will only get me back if you agree to eat dinner tonight with a handsome, studly, amazing man named Remy.
A laugh bubbles up from my lungs and comes out as a cackle.
Me: You are nuts. And I already agreed to dinner.
Remy: Yes, but I need to make sure you’re going to follow through.
Me: When have I ever not followed through?
Remy: Ha. Lots of times, babe. Take today, for example. I told you on Saturday to call me when you needed help, but you didn’t. Luckily, I texted you this morning to see how things were going.
He’s not wrong, but that doesn’t make my reasons for not reaching out to him invalid.
Another text from Remy fills the screen.
Remy: How did your day go, by the way? Did you sell the apartment?
Oh shit, Carl!
Quickly, I open Carl’s last message.
Carl: Great news, Maria. Looks like we have a deal. Owner agrees. Draft up the contract and send it my way.
Me: Fantastic. Thanks, Carl. My buyer will be pleased.
Before I let Eleanor know the news, I update Remy first.
Me: Actually, yes. I did sell the apartment. So, tonight, dinner is on me. I hate to ask this, but can you manage Izzy for another hour or so while I get contracts finalized at my office? Meet me at my place around 6:30?
Remy: See? That wasn’t so hard, was it? Asking me for help when you need it? And I can definitely keep Izzy with me. It’s not a problem. So don’t even bother asking, “Are you sure, Remy?” ;）
Remy: PS: Congrats on the sell. Dinner is on ME.
Me: You’re so stubborn.
Remy: Hello, pot. I’m kettle. Nice to meet you.
Me: I’m rolling my eyes at you again.
Remy: Yeah, but you’re also smiling too.
I both love and hate that he’s right.
Remy: See you at 6:30, Ria. I’ll be the guy at your door with the cutest baby in the world plus dinner from your favorite Italian restaurant.
Me: And which restaurant would that be?
Remy: Pfft. Like I’d ever forget your love for Buca.
How does he remember everything?
The real question here is, how does he keep being everything you need?
Maria
The sight of Izzy perched on the kitchen island in her favorite bouncer chair is the first thing I see when I walk through the door. And the second is Remy pulling containers of takeout from a large brown paper bag that reads Buca.
The smell of garlic and cheese and pasta fills my nose and my stomach growls, but also, my mouth quirks up into a smile.
“Italian takeout was a glorious idea,” I comment as I lift Izzy out of her chair and into my arms. “I sure missed you today,” I whisper to my girl and place my lips to the soft skin of her cheek. “And I really hope you behaved yourself.”
Izzy shuts her eyes in contentment when I nuzzle my face against hers.
“She was an angel,” Remy answers, and I look up to find him smiling at me over his shoulder.
My eyes can’t stop themselves from taking inventory of him. Dressed in black slacks and a white collared dress shirt that has the first two buttons undone and the sleeves rolled up his forearms, the man looks almost as delicious as the food.
Nice try. He looks more delicious than the food.
I want to smack my inner self for being so ridiculous. Obviously, I know he’s an incredibly attractive man. Hell, I’ve known that since I was a teenage girl who had hearts in her eyes every time she saw him.
But now is not the time to obsess over his physical attributes.
What about his other attributes? Like the fact that he saved your ass again? Or the fact that he just might be the most thoughtful, considerate man on the planet? Is now a good time to obsess over those?
“Hungry?” Remy asks, and I have to blink myself out of my thoughts.
Quickly, I realize I’ve just been standing here, holding Izzy, while also staring at the way the muscles of Remy’s forearms flex and stretch with his movements.
“Um…yeah. Starving, actually. I didn’t have time for lunch,” I finally answer and busy myself with inhaling Izzy’s sweet baby smell again. Surely a baby is the perfect distraction from the ride o’ randy thoughts my brain keeps trying to take me on.