Page 61 of Dr. Attending

He takes me through every room except for the one where his son is sleeping, explaining the design choices and changes he made after he moved in. I can tell that he’s proud of it, and I enjoy seeing this side of him. The more time that we spend together, the more that I find he’s so much more thanthe shallow, lackadaisical persona he put on for years—he’s stunningly complex.

We finish in the master bedroom located on the main floor. It’s moodier than the rest of the house, with a dark ceiling and walls covered in intricate molding. There’s a beautiful fireplace on one wall and a massive leather king bed opposite it with stained oak nightstands on either side displaying framed black-and-white photographs of him and his son.

Weston bends over to pick up a pile of clothes from the ground. “Sorry about the mess.”

I look at him like he’s crazy because his house is spotless.“This is nothing. You should see Claire’s room.”

A few clothes on the floor are trivial compared to the category five hurricane that lives in my sister’s closet.

Weston laughs as he drops the clothes in a wicker hamper. “My sister is the same way.” He gestures toward the mantle. “It’s worse now that she has a kid, too. I’m pretty sure I got hives the last time I visited.”

I follow his gaze, noticing the array of framed pictures above the fireplace. I made it a point to avoid listening when he would talk over the years, so I never knew that he had a sister.

“Are you guys close?” I ask, studying one that looks like it was taken at a wedding a few years ago.

“As close as we can be.” Weston smiles as he walks toward me, focused on the same image. “She lives in Cali with her family, and we’re both busy. But we talk when we can.”

I nod with understanding because my siblings and I are the same way. Even though the monthly dinners have helped us stay fairly connected, it sometimes feels like I’m getting left behind as we get older. It’s almost like they’ve formed their own family units, and I’m just an ancillary character that they remember from time to time.

I scan the rest of the photos on Weston’s mantle, feeling myself smile as I move down the line because his family seems so similar to ours. Each image captures happy moments, but there’s a familiar formality to each one, almost like they’re staged to portray perfection.

All of the breath nearly leaves my lungs when I get to the final frame. The only one that isn’t of his family—it’s of mine. “What—”

My eyes dart to him, searching for an explanation because the photo seems so out of place, not only because of the people, but because of the chaos in the captured moment.

Weston smiles as he picks up the frame.

“I think this one is my favorite,” he murmurs softly, his expression almost wistful as he studies the image. “Cass sent it to me a few days after the wedding.”

The entire group that celebrated my brother’s wedding at the lake is standing in our formal attire on the back porch. Cassidy is fixing Parker’s bowtie while Claire and Morgan adjust her updo. Walker has Carter on his shoulders, pointing at Beau, who’s waving back at them. And Weston is leaning against the railing with a shit-eating grin on his face, staring at me while I hold the bridal bouquet and stick my tongue out at him.

I shake my head. “I’m surprised you didn’t crop me out.”

Weston glances at me, and his face falls slightly. “Why would I do that?”

“Uh . . . because I look ridiculous?”

“You don’t look ridiculous,” he says, placing the frame back in its original spot as he turns to me.

“And I would never crop you out.” His voice is steady as he holds my gaze. “Other than my son, you are the most important person in that picture, Caroline.”

“Yeah . . . okay, Wes.”I chuckle.

Even if I were to ignore the fact that my brother is in the picture—someone who should definitely sit higher on the importance scale than me—Weston and I only just found our footing as friends, if that’s even what we are.

“I’m serious,” he counters, reaching out to dust his fingers against mine. “Every morning, I look at it, and it grounds me. You ground me.”

I suck in a harsh breath because his sincerity makes me feel a little dizzy. I know he thinks that I’m always honest with him, but that’s not always true. Because if I were to be truly honest at this moment, I would tell him that maybe, just maybe, he grounds me too.

Chapter 23

Weston

Caroline blinks several times as my words settle in, like she can’t decide if I’m full of shit or not. Eventually, her lips twist into a smug grin. “Sounds like you’re kind of obsessed with me.”

“That’s one way to put it,” I respond, forcing myself to give her a matching half-smile.

Her joke doesn’t surprise me because the more time we spend together, the more I learn that praise isn’t something she knows how to process. It’s like every time I say something remotely positive, she deflects and abruptly changes the subject.

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