"Nothing."
"Julian."
"What?"
I narrow my eyes. "You're acting weird."
"I'm not acting weird."
"You got up at six. I heard you."
He pauses mid-bite. "Couldn't sleep."
"So you...?"
"Went for a run. Picked up the bread." He gestures to the toast. "See? Productive."
I study him. Something's definitely going on.
We finish eating in comfortable silence. He collects the plates, starts running water in the sink.
That's when I hear it.
A weird sound. Faint. Coming from the studio.
I freeze.
Julian's studio door is closed. It's never closed. He always leaves it open—says he likes the light from the hallway, that it inspires him.
"Julian?"
He doesn't turn around. "Hmm?"
"Why is your studio door closed?"
The water keeps running.
"Julian."
He shuts off the tap. Turns slowly.
His face breaks into the widest grin I've ever seen.
"Go look."
My heart slams against my ribs as I cross the hallway.
The sound gets louder. A rustling. Something toppling over.
I push open the door.
And there, in the middle of Julian's studio, surrounded by a toppled lamp, torn fabric and pillow stuffing, and complete chaos. is the most beautiful German Shepherd puppy I've ever seen.
"Amadeus!" Julian rushes past me. "You're destroying my pillow!"
I burst out laughing.
The puppy's ears perk up at the sound. He bounds toward me, all paws and floppy ears, tail wagging so hard his entire butt wiggles.
