Dr. Hot Stuff - Tawna Fenske Page 0,27
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