Perfect Together by Kristen Ashley

Now, for some reason, I just wanted barbeque, our daughter’s napkins and Remy.

“The nitty-gritty,” I said softly. “Can we just…?”

I trailed off because I didn’t know how to say what I wanted without taking us, and especially him, places we weren’t ready to go yet.

“Get to know each other again?” Remy suggested. My tone had been soft, his was gentle. But when I didn’t immediately answer, he went on, “Pretend?”

Pretend.

Pretend this wasn’t just his house and our house was now just mine?

Pretend the last three years didn’t happen?

Just…pretend?

“Fiona was in town this week. Noel was full throated in his complaints about the fact he had to rearrange my entire schedule yesterday afternoon so I could view properties with her. But it was all worth it because I really like to spend time with her. She came over for a glass of wine before she had to leave last night, and I will never forget the look on Theo’s face when Fiona Remington walked into the living room.”

Speaking of looks I wouldn’t forget, Remy Gastineau had given me many in our lives together.

The one he had when I walked down the aisle to him.

The expression on his face when I told him I was pregnant with Sabre (and then Manon, and then Yves).

The way he looked the first time Sabre was placed in his arms (and then Manon, and then Yves).

The one he wore when I walked into Spring House, up in Montana. A house he’d designed and built. And I’d wandered around it, knowing it was different. Knowing he was shirking off the tethers of his firm. What he was told to do, what he was supposed to do, clearly making his own mark. And I told him it was by far the best work he’d done to date. Then he’d told me he wanted to quit the firm and start his own. And I’d instantly said, “Do it.”

And that one right there.

The one that was him and me eating barbeque at his counter in his house and pretending we hadn’t imploded.

That we were still us.

At the same time giving him another massive hint that was where I wanted us to get back to being.

“If Theo sticks around, he might want to get used to that,” Remy noted.

“My clients don’t tend to walk into my living room, Remy.”

“Manon has worked the last three summers in your warehouse, Wyn, and she’s getting a degree in fine arts. That degree has a zero-point-one job placement rate, unless she gets a couple of graduate degrees. She’s unofficially mentoring herself at your shop, likely because she wishes Noel was her brother by blood and she doesn’t want him to feel his position is challenged. Regardless, it doesn’t take a psychologist to see, if you allow it, this is going to be a family business. And although Theo is a solid guy, I don’t like the idea of Yves sticking with the first person he’s with rather than having some experience and knowing what he really wants. But if they work, Theo will be in our family.”

“I need to start taking Manon to shows,” I murmured.

“You do,” he agreed.

We shared a familiar weighted glance while sharing familiar agreement about one of our kids.

Then I turned back to my barbeque, and in between bites, I told him, “I mentioned Fiona for a reason.”

“Let me guess. She’s not finding a house. She’s finding a lot and wants me to scrape the house on it, if it has one, and build one for her.”

I faced him again. “How’d you guess?”

He smiled, shook his head and went for his wine. “Because I never should have done the Heald home. I’ve had calls from A-listers, B-listers, aging Hollywood royalty and a straggle of wannabes.”

“This is good,” I said.

“This is a disaster,” he replied. “Because, honey, those people are pains in the ass.”

“Fiona isn’t,” I disagreed, and I would know, because I had a lot of clients and a goodly number of them were a pain in the ass.

“They all are,” he refuted. “I swore to myself after Heald, not again. Christ, it’s a wonder I didn’t do time for murdering him when I worked with him. I changed my design fifteen times at his demand.”

I couldn’t believe I forgot this. It had done Remy’s head in. The guy was ridiculous, not only with his indecisiveness, but his demands on Remy’s time.

“Since then, I’ve had preliminary consultations with three actors, a director and a producer. All big names. All came to their meetings with definitive ideas, but before a week was up, they were already phoning repeatedly to suggest changes and additions. Now, I put them off before it gets to the consultation stage.”

“I don’t think Fiona would be like that. She’s decisive. Case in point, she found a piece of property north of Carefree yesterday and she’s buying it.”

He shook his head and went back to his food.

“Remy,” I called.

He shoved some turkey in his mouth and looked at me.

“Do you really have a two-year waiting list?” I asked.

“Literally, for someone to get direct to me, yes. For one of the talented people I employ, no. But it’s anywhere from eight months to a year. But they all want me. And I don’t bump people up the list. So if they want me, they wait for me.”

Well, damn.

Now I was in the position of asking my ex-husband, who I’d fallen into working on our relationship with, for what amounted to a very big favor.