Not quite. Not even on this, his second try. And he ought to check on Erin.

The door swung open. Erin. And boys. The kids were standing on either side of her, acting as walking sticks. She’d arranged the cashmere throw like a sarong, tucking it into itself so it hung from just above her breasts. Her curls were cascading in a tumbled mess around her shoulders.

She looked…fabulous, he thought, so suddenly that he felt a jab of what might even be described as heart pain. Or heart panic?

Two deep breaths. Professional. She was a patient. Nothing more.

He’d been over the idea of heart pain a long time ago.

‘Hey, welcome to the world of up,’ he said, and managed a smile he hoped was detached and clinically appropriate. ‘I hope you’re not weight bearing on that foot.’

‘I have two great crutches,’ she said, and smiled. ‘One called Nathan and one called Martin.’

‘Great job, boys,’ he said, and nodded, and both little boys flushed with pleasure. Which gave him another jolt. It was hard to get these kids to smile.

Dammit, why had he forgotten the buns?

‘Are they ready yet?’ Martin asked, almost as the thought entered his head.

‘Easter buns are for this afternoon,’ he said, and he knew he sounded desperate.

‘You said we could have them for breakfast,’ Nathan said. ‘The kids at school say they eat buns on Good Friday morning.’

‘I’ve been eating them all week,’ Erin chipped in, and he cast her a look that he hoped put her right back in her place. Talk about helpful…Not.

‘Dom says Easter buns are for Easter and not before,’ Martin told her. ‘Like Easter eggs. He says if the bunny sees us eat an egg before Sunday he’ll know he doesn’t have to deliver eggs to our place.’

‘So if he sees you eat a bun before this morning you won’t get any?’ Erin ventured, eyeing Dom with caution. ‘Your dad’s a stickler for rules, then.’