Page 147 of The Love Operation

I know Tad Cooper’s still in the car with me, but watching Benedict walk away—even just to get ice cream—was rough. And Tad Cooper? He’s dealing with his own issues right now—namely, this car ride. I can’t put anything else on him.

Besides, the house’s familiarity is comforting. I remember coming here in college. It looks like a storybook cottage, the kind with ivy-covered brick and trimmed blooming shrubs.

His brows lift in surprise, but something else flickers there too, like maybe he’s pleased I want to. “Of course.”

As soon as he pushes open the carved-wood front door, a woman skids across the hardwood in socked feet, stopping just short of crashing into us, like a wave of nostalgia.

“Benedict!” she squeals. “Is that the ice cream?”

I’m caught off guard by such enthusiasm coming from a grown woman—until I remember what Benedict told me about his sister.

He lifts the bag with a grin, but her attention immediately swings to me.

“Who’s this?” she gasps. “Is this your girlfriend?” She turns fully to me, her eyes wide. “You’re so beautiful! But you look tired. Are you tired?”

Her sincerity makes me smile.

“Whoa, Kate.” Benedict laughs. “Give her some space.” Then he whispers to me behind his hand, “Kate’s a bit of a chatterbox, and she has no filter.”

“I heard that!” she says.

“It’s okay,” I say, finding her unfiltered energy freeing. “Hi, Kate. I’m Cordelia. I’m not your brother’s girlfriend—we’re just friends. But thank you for the compliment. And yes, I am a little tired. It’s been a rough day.”

Her shoulders sag . . . then perk right back up. “You know what you need?”

Before I can answer, Benedict heads into the living room where his mom sits in a recliner. She looks more fragile than I remember—but still beautiful. When our eyes meet, her smile makes me feel welcome. Benedict bends to kiss the top of her head.

“Kate,” their mother says gently, “let Cordelia get settled. Cordelia . . . it’s good to see you.”

She opens her arms, and I lean in for a light hug. Her arms feel like butterfly wings, and I’m careful not to squeeze too hard.

“Be right back,” Benedict says, disappearing through an arched doorway.

“Cordelia,” Kate says, holding up a finger, like she’s been waiting patiently, “do you like to soak your feet?”

“Who doesn’t?” I smile.

She scampers off and returns moments later, carrying a large plastic machine. “It lights up, heats up, and makes bubbles. You can add salts and oils and everything. It just came in the mail.”

A voice calls from the hallway. “Not that foot soaker again . . .”

Wilton Calder appears with a cane and a knowing grin.

“Dr. Wren. Didn’t know doctors made house calls these days.”

“For you? Always.”

He winks at me, and we smile at each other. The tightness in my stomach loosens a fraction.

“You got my text?” Benedict asks, returning with a jar of bath salts.

“Yep,” Wilton says. “You two go on. We’ll be fine here.”

“There’s a casserole in the fridge,” Benedict says. “Just needs to be heated.”

Wilton rolls his eyes. “We know how to work an oven. Christina’s coming by later to help your mom.”

“Christina’s my caregiver,” Laura supplies gently.