I need to stop staring.
“So, Kevin.” I force myself to swallow. “Any news on Kevin the pig?”
“Nothing new.” His blue eyes flash like he recognizes my ridiculous excuse. “The foster paperwork sometimes takes time.”
“I see.” Time is one thing I definitely don’t have.
What was I thinking coming in here? Or worse, drooling over Dr. Parker like some lovesick teen. I know better than this.
In the back of my mind, my mother’s voice is stern. “Only fools let emotions rule their personal relationships.” She said this just moments after I confronted her with the DNA report showing the Duke couldn’t possibly be my biological father.
“The occasional slip is understandable,” she continued. “But don’t let your heart make strategic decisions on your behalf.”
I shake off the echoes of her voice and force myself to meet Bradley’s curious gaze with my haughtiest royal composure. “It was wonderful seeing you. I—I should get back to Lily.”
He smiles, and my insides turn to mush again. “I’m really glad you stopped by. You’re a definite bright spot in my day.”
“Yes, you, too.” If he only knew how pathetically giddy I feel just hearing his voice. His hands are shoved in the pockets of his lab coat, and my whole body twitches with the thought of feeling them on my body.
I have to get out of here.
I back away slowly, no longer trusting myself not to lunge for him. “I have to go. Lovely seeing you. Take care, now.”
I turn and flee like a scared little girl.
Like a woman who knows exactly how much she stands to lose by ignoring her mother’s counsel.
Chapter 6
Bradley
Of all the things I’ve done to woo a woman, arriving on her doorstep with a pig in a sweater takes the prize.
“Bradley.” Izzy blinks at me, then looks down. “Oh my goodness, Kevin!”
She stoops to scratch his ears, and I try not to feel jealous the pig gets a warmer greeting than I did.
“The county’s still processing your application to be a foster, but my mom needed someone to take him off her hands for a few hours,” I explain. “Thought you might like to see him again.”
“Oh my gosh, this is so wonderful.” She scratches under the collar of his red wool sweater and Kevin grunts with pleasure. “I didn’t know people dressed pigs in clothing.”
“People don’t.” I shrug. “My mother does. She was worried he might get cold since he used to be a house pig and all.”
“That’s very thoughtful of her.” She stands and gives me a smile that melts my heart. “And you. Thank you for bringing him to see me.”
“My pleasure. Had a pretty full day seeing patients, so it’s nice to get out and get some fresh air.”
Speaking of which, we should probably stop standing in her open front door with temps right around freezing. I don’t want to invite myself inside, but—
“Can we walk him around here?” she asks.
“That’s what I had in mind.” I start to hand her the leash, then stop. She’s wearing soft pink leggings and a white cashmere sweater, which looks cozy but not ideal for this chilly December afternoon. “Want me to wait here while you put on warmer stuff?”
“Oh.” She glances down as though surprised by her own outfit. “Please come in. I’ll just be a second.” She swings the door wide and beckons us inside. “Kevin can come, too. I’ve been pig-proofing, just in case.”
“Pig-proofing?”
She gives me a sheepish smile as she pads toward a bedroom at the end of the hall. “I read online that they’re very good at opening cupboards and doors, so I bought childproof locks. Even if the foster doesn’t work out, it’ll be good for when Bree brings Brian to visit.”
Brian isn’t even mobile yet, but I love that she’s thinking ahead. Another thing I love? She trusts me enough to leave her bedroom door ajar as she hustles in to change. I step further into the living room to avoid any appearance that I’m trying to sneak a peek.
“You put in a dog door?” I move to the far side of the room to study the pet flap that’s perfectly Kevin-sized.
Her response comes back muffled like she’s shouting from inside a sweater. “Bree put it in when she and Austin were dating. She wanted to make it easier when Virginia Woof stayed over.”
“That’s handy.” I turn away from the pet door and survey her living room. There’s a dove gray sofa angled across a cream-colored rug pattered in red and gray. It looks expensive and very European, and I wonder if it came from Dovlano.
I lead Kevin past the sofa, careful not to pause too long. My mom made sure he’s housebroken, but I’m not taking chances he’ll snack on a throw pillow. He angles his snout up to sniff a basket of pinecones and cinnamon sticks perched on the coffee table. That must be what’s making the room smell so homey.
“Come on,” I murmur, tugging Kevin’s leash.
He oinks and lets me lead him around the back of the sofa. On the other side sits a tall table near the fireplace with a cluster of photos in silver frames. There’s one from Bree’s wedding with all six Bracelyn siblings together. I pick it up and study the image, letting my gaze linger on Izzy’s pale face. This must have been early in the reception when she was headed into kidney failure. She surely would have been in agony, but her smile is barely strained.
I set down that photo and pick up another. The Duke and Duchess stand regally on each side of Izzy, their chins tilted up. Iz wears a purple gown, and her hair is in a fancy updo. Everyone’s posture is stiff, and they stand like they’re afraid of accidentally touching. As I study Izzy’s face, I see little resemblance to the bright, bubbly woman I’ve known this past year.
Her voice rings out from down the hall. “I’m so sorry, where are my manners? If you’d like some sparkling water, you’ll find several varieties in the fridge.”
“I’m okay.” Kevin grunts beside me, and I glance down to take his beverage order. “You okay waiting until we get outside? I saw a dog dish that must be Virginia’s.”
Kevin grunts his approval, so I turn my attention back to the photos. At the back of the cluster sits a grouping of candid images. There’s one with Bree and Izzy wrapped in fluffy white robes, surrounded by their brothers’ wives and girlfriends. Blanka, Lily, Chelsea, Amber…they’re all ruddy-cheeked and relaxed, so it must be a spa date of some sort. All the women are smiling, but Iz looks especially radiant, her face tinged with joy. It’s hard to believe this is the same woman in the photo with her parents.
I drag my eyes off the spa image, feeling guilty for checking out Izzy in her bathrobe. She’s well covered, but I don’t want to be a creeper.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” she calls from down the hall. “Almost forgot sunscreen.”
“Take your time.” There’s not much sun outside, but transplant patients have a much higher risk of skin cancer. I’m glad Izzy’s looking out for herself.
My gaze drifts to another framed image. It’s Iz and her parents again, a candid shot this time. Everyone’s in formal attire with a cluster of people around, a well-coiffed crowd with no one looking at the camera. Izzy’s focused on a butler in a starched suit holding canapés on a silver tray. Her father—or rather, the Duke—looks on with a hint of disdain, while Izzy’s mother laughs at something an older woman is saying.