Page 26 of It Happened In Paris

“Oh, um…” Shit. Was she mad how I handled Paris’ question about Heaven?

“You’re so good with her. You were wonderful. Thank you for answering her. I don’t know what I would have said?—”

“You’re her mother and you would have said the perfect thing. She’ll be fine. And so will you,” I murmured as I lingered to capture her new scent of the designer perfume and shampoo I’d bought for her to use in the suite, although I missed her usual vanilla. “I have a little more fun in store for us when Paris gets back.”

“Richard, what have you done now?” she teased, her lips curving into a smile as she studied me.

“Wait and see. It’s a surprise that Paris will love. I guarantee it.”

“She’s loved them all. You and your surprises. Don’t you know how having you here with us is enough?” Then, she balanced on her toes and planted a soft kiss on my cheek before leaving the room. I stood there, awed by her affection. It was a crack in her wall, finally giving way.

I paced the room, running a hand through my hair in frustration as I waited for the nurses to get me for my Xray. Emotions bubbled up, admitting what I desired now: a family. The kid. The mother. Forever.

What was happening to me?

As a distraction, I studied the lineup of maps Paris had helped me tape to the wall—her “travel schedule.” It outlined an extravagant trip, and I longed to whisk them both away to show them the wonders of the world. According to Paris, we’d start at the North Pole to see polar bears, then head to Egypt to gaze at the pyramids and ride camels in the desert, then visit the rainforest, and?—

Before I could finish, an unfamiliar man stepped into the room. I sized him up in a flash; we were nearly the same height and build. He wore an olive cable-knit wool sweater, a puffer vest, and a black trucker cap on his head. Rugged but refined, and a little familiar.

“Can I help you?” I asked.

“I was told this is Paris Bardeaux’s room,” he remarked. His eyes darted around from my silk pajamas to the stuffed animals and vibrant maps that gave the room more character than a typical sterile hospital setup.

“It is. And who might you be?” I inquired, my fists tensing, ready to protect if needed.

“Should I ask you the same?” He cautiously extended his hand. “I’m Keaton Kingston.”

“Ah, Vivian’s brother. I’m Richard Buchanan. You own Holly Creek Hops Brewery, right? Nice establishment.” Relieved, I shook his hand firmly, our grips equal in strength.

“That’s me. I’m afraid she hasn’t mentionedyouat all,” he noted.

“I’m a… a friend,” I explained, yet hating the word because I wanted to be more.

He folded his arms, studying me with skeptical eyes. “Last I heard, Vivian didn’t have any friends.”

“Well, I’m also Rex’s brother, Chelsea’s husband.”

“I didn’t make their wedding. Spent the holidays out in Denver skiing with some friends. But I rushed back from my trip expecting to find Viv alone, dealing with all of this. Definitely not expecting to find you here. Guess I’m glad you were.” He squinted at the nearest wall where there was a drawing Paris had made of herself with Vivian and me.

“Has she filled you in on what’s going on with Paris?”

“Yep. We’ve had a stream of constant texts flowing.”

But no mention of me? Interesting. How should I take that? I assumed she’d never told her brother about our one night together long ago, either.

“So, have you ever considered bottling your brews? I know the owners of the country's largest bottling plant, and they've been partnering with micro-breweries over the past year. I could introduce you when you're ready," I suggested, steering the conversation to familiar business territory.

His eyebrows rose as he turned away from the wall maps. "Really? That would be incredible. I picked up some new flavor ideas while in Denver and I’m planning to expand our reach this summer regionally. Next step would be bottling." He warmed up to me, which was crucial since I hoped to be part of his sister and niece’s lives for a long time, if things went my way.

Just then, the nurse dropped by and signaled that it was time for my chest X-ray. “My blood is a match for Paris. And I’m undergoing further evaluation to see if I can donate my kidney.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I thought I’d do the same.”

“Okay. The more people tested, the faster we’ll get someone to match. Then we can proceed with the transplant. I’ll inform the staff and they’ll start testing you immediately. Paris and Vivian should be back soon. Please, make yourself comfortable. We’ll talk more later.” I gestured as if inviting him into our little family circle.

If I approached Vivian like a business deal, I’d evaluate where I stood. Having Paris and Keaton on my side was a definite advantage. But she wasn’t a transaction; she was a woman full of passion and spirit. I wouldn’t give up trying to win her yet. And since when did a Buchanan ever give up on what they wanted?

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