“This one has decided he doesn’t like being cooped up.” She walked back into the house, tugging her hair free from the scamp’s jaws, and Brad followed her in and shut the door.
“How’s his mother doing?” Dumping his bag onto her kitchen table, he started making a space for their food between her laptop and piles of flyers.
Izzy sighed and went to the boxer mix lying in a cream-colored dog bed by the sliding glass door to the backyard. She stroked the dog’s back. “Better, I think. She still seems to only tolerate my presence and would rather scavenge for her own food than accept what I give her. But she likes this dog bed now. And when I took it upstairs last night, she even slept in my room with me, which was a first. I’m working on getting her up on my bed.”
“A dog in your bed?” Brad squatted next to her and ruffled Vi’s short brown fur. His fingers brushed against Izzy’s, and he did it again. “What’s happened to the woman I met who wanted nothing to do with dogs?”
“There’s nothing else in my bed,” she said, then turned pink.
Brad grinned. She was awfully cute when embarrassed. “Glad to hear it.”
She ducked her head. “About Sunday night…”
“Ooh, I was hoping we could discuss that.” She was cute when embarrassed, but she was sexy as hell with her hair mussed and skin flushed after she came. It had been fifteen hours since he’d seen her that way, but the vision of Izzy falling apart in his arms hadn’t left his brain.
“I don’t want to discuss it. Ever.”
Tangling his fingers with hers, he squeezed. He’d let it go. For now. Until she became more comfortable with him. She bit her lip and darted a glance at him from the corner of her eye, and he couldn’t resist. Stroking her thumb with his, he lowered his head, needing her lips.
Izzy turned and placed the puppy at Vi’s paws. She stood. “How about that lunch?” she asked brightly. “What did you bring?”
Brad straightened, his head spinning a bit with the movement, and rubbed her shoulder as he walked past her to the table. He’d get there with her. “Roast beef and a turkey sandwich. You choose.”
Izzy brought out dishes and paper napkins. “Roast beef sounds good. You want something to drink? I just made some fresh lemonade.”
“That would be great.” He plated their sandwiches and dropped into his chair. “So, did you get your work done last night?”
“Yes.” She brought over two glasses of ice-cold lemonade and took her own seat but didn’t respond further. “What about you?” She examined him and cocked her head, her eyebrows drawing close. “You look exhausted.”
“Yeah.” He lifted his sandwich, and even that seemed like an effort. “I was up all night with a busted water pipe. Flooded half the shelter.”
“What are you doing here? You should be in bed.”
“Wanted to see you more than I wanted sleep.” He sipped the tart lemonade and shrugged.
Izzy’s face melted into a smile before growing stern again. It was such a quick flash of softness but had been so genuine, Brad knew any amount of missed sleep was worth it to see that expression light her up.
“Is the pipe fixed? Have you called your landlord?”
“Well, water’s not gushing everywhere, but it’s going to be a big repair bill. And the landlord’s out of it.” Brad rubbed his forehead, his spirits tanking as he thought of his bank balance. “I had a two-year lease, and when it ended, we continued on month to month. But we still abide by the original terms. And according to the terms of the lease—”
“You’re responsible for all repairs.” Izzy closed her eyes and blew out a breath.
“How’d you know that?”
Tearing off a piece of bread from her sandwich, she rolled it between her fingers and stared at her plate. “Lucky guess. How big a repair bill is it?”
“Big.” Brad put down the remaining half of his turkey club, his appetite dwindling. “Which is what I wanted your advice on. Even with my best estimates, I don’t think this banquet is enough to cover my operating costs and the repairs. I tried to get a loan, but the bank manager pretty much laughed me out of his office. Said it was for my own good that I don’t go into personal debt over a nonprofit that’s bigger on the ‘non’ part of the nonprofit equation.”
“He’s right.” Izzy frowned. “You can’t put any money into that building.”
“I’m going to need water in the exam room eventually,” he said dryly. “Carrying buckets back and forth will get old real quick.”
“You need to find a new space for your shelter. You said you’re month-to-month, which means you can leave at any time. Well, it’s time to leave.”
What she said made sense. The twelve thousand could be better spent on rent at a new place than on a repair bill. But it would probably cost a couple grand to move all his stuff and build out any new premises to suit his needs. And the rent would be higher. In a couple of months, he wouldn’t be ending up ahead.
“The time’s not right.”
“But…Violet!” Izzy grabbed for the dog’s collar, but the boxer was quicker. Placing her front paws on the edge of the table, she snapped up Brad’s uneaten sandwich half. Tail tucked low, the dog slunk to her bed and wolfed the food down, casting wary glances over her shoulder as she ate.
“That was a very bad girl!” Izzy pointed her finger at the dog, and Brad couldn’t keep his chuckle buried. She turned back around. “I’m so sorry. Here, you can have the rest of my sandwich.” She lifted half of her roast beef, but Brad waved it down.
“I’m fine. But Vi might need some behavior lessons. I can get you a list of classes if you want.”
“Thanks.”
“If you could think of any other ways to raise money, that would be all the thanks I’d need.”
“The shelter doesn’t have any savings accounts?” Izzy pressed. “No CDs, nothing?”
Brad spread his hands. “Whatever we get we put back into the dogs. It’s worked so far.”
“But not now.”
His stomach tightened. “No, not now. Which is why I need ideas.”
Izzy tapped her thumb on the table. “I…” She cleared her throat. “I’ll see what I can think up.”
“Thanks.” Rubbing his eyes, he pushed to his feet. And wobbled.
Izzy shot up. “You’re exhausted. Come with me.” Taking his arm, she pulled him from the kitchen and into the living room. She turned him, hands prodding and pushing his hips until he faced her.
Brad was tired, but not too tired if she had something good in mind. The way she was lined up now, her clingy white blouse rose and fell an inch from his own chest. Brad leaned forward, hoping for contact, and got a shove to the gut knocking him down. He bounced on the cushion of the sofa.
“What…?” Blinking, he let Izzy swing his feet up and push his shoulders down until he was stretched out on the couch. Finally understanding what she was about, he rolled up. “I don’t need a nap, Izzy. I’ll go home and crash there.”
She pushed him back down and pulled a folded plaid blanket off the back of the couch. “Nonsense. You can’t drive like this.” Laying the checked wool over him, she tucked the edges down between the back of the sofa and his side. “Rest for a couple of hours, and if you’re still wobbly, I’ll drive you home.”
A yawn interrupted his next argument. He regrouped. “Don’t fuss over me.” He turned to his side. “I’ve had five lifetimes of people fussing over me. The nurses were great, but after a while they drove me nuts.”
More slowly, Izzy pushed the edges of the blanket under his other side, her fingers slipping under his chest, his ribs, his waist…“Just the nurses? What about your parents?”
He stopped her hand before she could slide it under his ass. Izzy had gone into mom mode, all efficiency when it came to taking care of someone, but Brad didn’t ever want her looking at him like h
e was a patient. With her wrist in his hand, he dragged her closer and pressed her palm to his chest.
He blinked his eyes open. “My parents…” He sighed. “Of course they fussed, in their own way. But I remember the yelling more than anything.”
Her body went rigid. “They yelled at you for being sick?”
He chuckled. “’Course not. There was no time to talk to me, much less yell, not when they spent all their free time screaming at each other.”
“I’m sorry.”
He cupped her cheek and tried to rub the worry lines by the corners of her eyes away. “It wasn’t their fault. It’s unbelievably stressful having a sick kid. And we didn’t even have the financial worry that so many other families do. My parents were, are, very well off. But all their banks accounts and CDs,” he said teasingly, “didn’t help them be any less miserable. And when the divorce came, and money was all they fought about, I saw firsthand that having a fat bank account can be more trouble than it’s worth.”
“That couldn’t have been all they fought about.” She smoothed a hand down his T-shirt and rested her palm on his rib cage. Her fingers burned through the thin cotton.
Brad saw the concern in her face, knew what she was thinking, and fell just a little bit in love with Isabelle Lopez in that moment. He drew her face closer to his. “I was in college when they got divorced. An adult. No custody battles needed.” Izzy couldn’t imagine his parents not fighting over him, even though as a single mother she should know better.
His arms were heavy as anchors, so he drew her the last couple inches, until his lips brushed against hers, and let them drop to his sides. The kiss was soft, almost chaste, but held a wealth of meaning.
“Brad…” Izzy whispered, her voice sounding far away.
His eyelids wouldn’t open, but his lips searched for hers…
He heard a sniffle, a bark. It felt like glue sealed his eyes closed, but Brad forced them open and saw Ana standing next to him, clutching the puppy to her chest.
“Are you sick, too?” she asked.
“Wha…?” He sat up, his head spinning, and looked around. He was in Izzy’s house and it was light out, but he couldn’t figure out what day it was or what he was doing there. Rubbing his palms into his eye sockets, he cleared his throat and tried again. “What time is it?”
Ana shrugged. “After school but before dinner.”
The fog began to clear. “And you got home from school a little while ago?” She nodded. Brad sagged back into the sofa and clasped his fingers together behind his head. It was still Monday. He’d come to Izzy’s for lunch and—
He froze. And he’d been kissing Izzy. He’d fallen asleep while kissing Izzy. That could only be all kinds of bad.
The woman in question bustled into the living room, a bottle of cough medicine in her hand and a dish towel tossed over one shoulder. “I told you not to wake him,” she scolded her daughter.
“I didn’t!” Ana wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “I was just looking at him and he woke up by himself.”
“Uh-huh.” She nodded to the stairs. “Up to bed and I’ll give you some medicine. Hopefully you’ll be better by tomorrow.”
“Oh, that reminds me.” Ana shuffled toward the staircase. “The bake sale is tomorrow. You’re supposed to make cupcakes.”
Izzy muttered a curse, too softly for Ana to hear. But Brad did, and raised an eyebrow. She held up a hand and shook her head, hurrying after her daughter. “I’ll be back down shortly,” she said to Brad and disappeared up the stairs.
He rolled his head, trying to ease out the kinks. Izzy didn’t seem irritated with his unforgiveable lapse in attention. But he could kick himself. How did a man fall asleep while kissing that woman?
She came back down while he was folding the blanket she’d covered him with.
“Sorry about that.” She’d changed into jeans and a short-sleeved purple sweater that hugged her just right. “If you want to try to get some more sleep, you’re welcome to stay.”
“You have absolutely nothing to apologize for.” Striding over to her, he took the dish rag she was twisting in her hands and tucked the end into his waistband. He ran his fingers through her thick hair, angling her head, and lowered his mouth to hers.
He didn’t deepen the kiss into something they couldn’t finish, but it was thorough and Izzy’s eyes were half-glazed when he stepped back. “I’m sorry I fell asleep before I could finish that.”
She licked her bottom lip and glanced over her shoulder up the stairs. “You were falling asleep on your feet. I understood.” She turned and headed for the kitchen, with Brad a step behind her. He should go back to the shelter, relieve Gabe and Dax. Or go talk to Debbie and Eugenie about digitizing what was left of his files, because he could see now that relying on paper had too many risks. Instead, he prowled after Izzy as she poked into kitchen cabinets and opened a canister with the word “Flour” scrolled across it.
She dropped her head back on her shoulders. “I forgot about these damned cupcakes and I don’t have any ingredients. Maybe if I keep Ana out of school tomorrow the Mothers’ Mafia won’t come after me.”
“The what now?” Cocking a hip against the counter, Brad couldn’t help but smile.
“The Mothers’ Mafia. AKA the PTA.” She shook her head. “You don’t know what they’re like. You’d think it’s a group of parents who work together to get the best education for their kids. But you’d be wrong.”
“What do they do?”
“Mainly, they make me feel like a bad parent.” She scratched at an invisible mark on the stove. “The board members try to pressure you to participate more than you have time for, guilt-trip you, and if you don’t meet their standards, ostracize you.” She shrugged. “I wouldn’t care for myself, but it seems if they don’t like the parent, they don’t let their kids play with the child. It’s like a sadder version of high school.”
His amusement fled. He clenched his jaw. As a mechanical engineer, Brad was used to fixing things. If there was a problem, he’d find a way to build a solution. But this wasn’t something he could fix for Izzy. He was out of his depth. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t be useful.
“Tell me what you need for the cupcakes. I’ll go to the store for you.”
Her forehead wrinkled. “You would do that?”
Jesus, she was killing him. “Of course I would. Any decent person would.” Stepping forward, he pressed her back against the counter. “You’ve been doing everything by yourself for too long.”
She laid a hand on his biceps but didn’t push him away or pull him in. “That’s not true. I have Lydia.”
“And now you have me, too.” Lowering his head, he breathed her in, let the heat from her body seep into his. He wanted to kiss away her frown, plop her up on the counter and do wicked things to her body. Show her just how good it could be to let someone else in. But Ana was upstairs, and Izzy had cupcakes to bake, so he rested his jaw at her temple and contented himself with wrapping his arms around her and holding her close. “What do you need from the store?”
“Flour, eggs, chocolate chips, but milk chocolate, not semi-sweet, sprinkles, oh, and food coloring—”
“Uh, change of plans. How about you go to the store, and I stay here with Ana. I think it would take me two hours to find everything you need.”
She squeezed his arm. “Are you sure you don’t mind?” Her breath feathered across his throat, the light brush sending arrows of lust rocketing down his spine.
He took one last long inhale and stepped back. “I’m sure. Vi and I will guard the house and eagerly await your return. Isn’t that right, girl?” he asked the dog lounging in her bed.
Vi twitched her brows, got to her feet, and circled three times before dropping back down, this time with her back to them.
Izzy laughed. “Yeah, she sure looks fierce. But she�
�s a good dog.” She walked over and gave Vi a couple belly rubs before standing and heading to the hall. She grabbed her purse. “I’ll be back soon. Call me if Ana starts to feel worse.”
Brad waved her off and went back into the kitchen. He sat on the ground next to Vi. “You’re going to have to give her a break sooner or later. I know you’ve been burned in the past, but trust me, Izzy’s one of the good ones. She’ll treat you right.” He petted the dog’s back, watching as she slowly relaxed.
Vi was going to be a good match for Izzy, just as soon as they both let down their guard. They’d help each other learn to trust. And hopefully, Brad could help Izzy with that, too. With a last scratch between Vi’s shoulders, he got to his feet and washed his hands. Then he started prowling around Izzy’s kitchen. He pulled out pots, trying to be as quiet as possible, raided the fridge, and got to work.
Chapter Twelve
Izzy nudged open her front door with her hip and paused on the threshold. She adjusted her grip on her bags and warily stepped into her house. It smelled like Brad had been cooking while she’d been shopping, and that could only mean a mess she’d have to clean.
She stepped into the kitchen and stopped, blinking. Brad raised his head from a steaming pot and took three large strides to where she was. He tugged the bags from her hands and placed them on the countertop. The spotless countertop.
“You cleaned.” She spun around like a top, examining the lack of cereal on the floor that she hadn’t gotten around to sweeping up that morning. The empty sink. She jerked her gaze to the table and saw that her piles of work hadn’t been disturbed. She swallowed. Her computer was password protected, but she had a couple pages of handwritten notes on the potential sale of his building lying in the jumble of papers.
She went to the table and straightened all her papers into one pile, the incriminating documents at the bottom. “You didn’t have to clean.”
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