Yeah.
We’ll figure it out.
Together.
We end up at B&B for lunch, snow melting off our coats as we step inside. I’m never sure what their policy on dogs is, but Fallon takes one look at Rufus’s droopy face and immediately waves us in like he’s the damn mayor.
“Long as he doesn’t pee on anything important,” he calls, sliding menus across the table.
“He won’t,” I promise, even though Rufus absolutely looks like a dog who would pee on something important.
Maisie giggles and plops down beside me, swinging her legs while Rufus sticks his nose under the table, inhaling deeply like he’s preparing to rate the entire restaurant.
We order burgers, mine loaded with jalapeños, hers plain with extra pickles, and while we wait, I lean my elbows on the table.
“So,” I ask, “tell me everything. School. Friends. Life. All of it.”
She shrugs, pushing her hair back. “School’s fine.”
“That’s it?” I prod gently. “Just fine?”
She picks at her napkin. “My teacher says I talk too much sometimes.”
“That’s not a crime.”
“And I got an A on my winter project.”
“That’s awesome, bug.”
Her smile grows when the food is set on the table. Rufus inches closer. She tips a scrap of burger down to him, and he takes it so gently you’d think he’s auditioning for sainthood.
I poke a fry at her plate. “Are you excited to be a big sister?”
She stops chewing. Swallows. Looks up at me.
“Yeah… I guess.”
There’s a hitch there, something she’s holding back, but I don’t push it. Not today. I just nod and reach for the bill when Fallon brings it.
Lunch goes smoothly, surprisingly so. By the time we’re bundling up again, she seems lighter. More herself.
“We can grab cookies,” I tell her as we step outside, “then head home. Sound good?”
She nods vigorously like I just promised her a pony.
And that’s when Rufus sees… god knows what. A squirrel. A sandwich wrapper. A hallucination.
Whatever it is, he bolts. Hard.
I lurch forward, nearly losing my grip on the leash while juggling shopping bags, Maisie’s mittened hand, and a dog who weighs as much as I do on a bad day.
“Rufus! Stop—hey—dammit?—”
Maisie’s laughing, the bags are sliding, the leash burns my palm.
And then we skid to an abrupt, humiliating stop right in front of Norah.
Of course.
