Louisa sniffed. Her stomach rumbled with the first twinges of hunger since she’d been shot. “What’s that smell?”

“I put chicken and vegetables in the slow cooker this morning.”

“I have a slow cooker?”

“No. I borrowed it from Jayne.” Conor laughed. “What do you want for lunch?”

“Could I have a grilled cheese sandwich?”

“Coming right up.” He handed her the remote control. The phone in the kitchen rang as he walked out. “I’ll get it.”

She flipped channels and stroked the dog’s head. Her gaze drifted to the flower arrangements on the dresser and tables. The yellow-and-white daisy display on the nightstand was from April. Dr. Cusack had sent a pastel spray of roses and carnations. There were several more from her museum coworkers, plus flowers from Conor’s family and Damian. She had lived in Philadelphia for just a few months, but she’d already made a home here.

“Do you like this apartment?” she called to Conor.

Conor came through the doorway with a plate in his hand. He gave the bank of windows overlooking Rittenhouse Square a pointed look. “What’s not to like?”

“I’m thinking about buying it.”

“Just don’t tell me what it costs.” He set her lunch on the nightstand, took her arms, and eased her more upright. “My head might explode.”

“Deal.” After a week of liquids and hospital food, the grilled cheese was the best thing she’d ever eaten.

At the sound of the doorbell, Conor ducked out of the room again. More flowers?

Conor poked his head in. “Louisa, do you feel up to some company?”

She swept an automatic hand over her limp hair. Dry shampoo was no substitute for the real thing.

“You look beautiful.” Conor stepped aside.

Louisa gasped at the figure in the doorway. Her father wore the usual: beat-up work boots, a ragged sweater, and jeans, his face prematurely lined from depression and alcohol. Under a sloppy, unkempt mop of gray hair, green eyes stared at her. They were the same shade as her own, the one physical trait he’d passed on to her. No one would accuse Ward Hancock of being a slave to fashion. She let out her breath with a rush of pain and put a hand over the thick wad of bandages under her sweatshirt.

Conor looked over her dad’s shoulder. “You all right?”

She nodded.

He walked to the bed and carefully lifted Kirra in his arms. “I’ll take the dog for a limp around the park.” He planted a kiss on her lips before leaving the room. After the door closed behind Conor and Kirra, her father walked to the side of the bed. He pulled Conor’s chair closer and sat down hard. His gaze raked over her. Angry lines tightened around his mouth.

“I missed you,” she said.