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Can’t blame her.
Nicolas is done with his cone and starts jumping up and down. “I want to feed her!”
“Here.” I pass the bowl to Redix and give the spoon to Nicolas. “Use this, and Uncle Red will help you.”
The sight—a gorgeous man with a baby girl content on his knee while a little boy feeds her ice cream. Yep, my ovaries sing.
“Careful with her.” Redix soothes when Nicolas gets too eager. “Take your time.”
And that takes me.
To the time Redix was my best friend, making me laugh. To the time he was my boyfriend, sharing my every first. To the ten years he left me. To the months he came back, and we were healed. And now to the time we’re not together anymore.
I’m slipping farther from his shore when I only want to swim back to him. He’s where I belong.
It’s not long till Nicolas gets bored and itches to run.
“I got him.” Scarlett clocks it and follows him down the boardwalk, where he starts splashing in the park’s fountains.
Redix doesn’t move. He hands me the spoon, and I feed Nina the last bite but I can’t look him in the eye.
What if he knew?
Everything I’ve done. With Silas. With other women. At a club.
Part of me feels guilty. More of me misses Redix and oddly wants to tell him. Not to hurt him, but we’ve shared so much. It doesn’t feel right. He should know this part of me, too, the one he helped me find first.
How I found a woman between my legs and Silas in my mouth last weekend, and I was incoherent with desire. The only thought I had after my mind blitzed out with a huge orgasm and I adored Silas’s kisses was, “I wish Redix was here too.”
And it’s not about the sex. It’s the freedom, the healing, the letting go that I want Redix to have, too. He needs it. More than I do, he needs something new, something that drags us both out of our painful past.
“I’m thinking of opening a gallery here.” He fills the heavy silence. “I’ve got all these bowls and plates I make. I think I’ll open a place and hire a staff to sell them, and we’ll donate our money to my crisis centers.”
“That’s a great idea.” I mean it. I believe in him. “They’d sell like hotcakes.”
“I thought about bringing artists in, too.” We start talking. Like we always could. “You know, Lowcountry and Gullah artists who sell their art. I even thought about funding artists’ residencies. Paying them to live here and create and teach about the history and art from here.”
“People would love it.” It burns; my tears that want to fall at his inspiration. He’s so happy talking about it. “You could even do art tours out to the islands.”
“Yeah!” He takes the baby wipe I hand him and carefully cleans Nina’s sticky hands. “I didn’t think about that, but that’s awesome. We could offer art tours and do festivals and raise awareness about teen mental health at the same time.”
This isn’t the Redix I knew.
Yes, the wild boy in him wants to start a new business. But the man who’s been through hell only wants to help others. And the one who loves himself now wants to do it in a way that celebrates art and life.
This is Redix Dean now.
And I love him even more. And I gulp down the lump in my throat because it won’t stop hurting, how we’re not together.
“How you been?” He’s watching my eyes. “You keeping Mama G out of trouble?”
That was a joke. And a verbal hug. And why that odd look in his eyes?
“She and Dad left for Vegas yesterday for a week of shows and gambling. They’re living their best life for as long as…”
Holding back a Hoover Dam of tears as to why, I shrug, and Redix sees my strain.
“Hey, Candy Cade.” They’re soft. His words. “I’m here if you need to talk. Or not talk and go for a walk instead.”
