“Food,” he announces.
Every remaining volunteer suddenly materializes like a pack of starving raccoons.
Jules presses one hand against his chest. “If that man walked in here holding a cheese board, I’d marry him on the spot.”
“Please. You’d leave him for a man with good hair and a Costco membership.”
Jules grabs a barbecue container off the counter. “You’re not wrong.”
I laugh loudly before I can stop it.
Within minutes, people crowd around the intake counter, balancing pulled pork sandwiches and sweet tea while exhausted laughter fills the lobby. The tension from the past week finally eases enough for me to breathe normally.
There are no threatening calls today, no strange vehicles outside the shelter, and no constant unease crawling up my spine every few minutes. Just dogs, exhausted volunteers, and the warm, hopeful feeling of a shelter full of successful adoptions.
“You haven’t sat down properly once today,” Alexei says quietly beside me.
I glance up. I didn’t even hear him walk over.
“That sounds judgmental.”
“It’s observational.”
“Mhmm. Real different.”
He gives me a small smile while handing me a sweet tea. Our fingers touch for the briefest second before heat rolls straight through me. Which is honestly ridiculous, considering this man destroyed my ability to walk properly less than twenty-four hours ago.
His cool eyes focus on my face for one long second before Ivy barrels toward us.
“Maggie,” she announces breathlessly, “Mr. Pickles listened to three whole commands.”
“That’s basically a miracle, sugar.”
“I know.”
Alexei reaches down to steady her when she nearly trips over a leash, and my chest squeezes unexpectedly at how natural the movement looks now. Not the billionaire side of him or even the terrifying side. It’s this part. The father part. The quiet protectiveness that appears every time Ivy is near him, the patience in his voice with her, the softness that slips into his eyes before he can stop it, and the way Ivy trusts him completely. That’s the part capable of ruining me.
“You hungry?” I ask her.
“I already ate chicken nuggets.”
“Of course you did,” I chuckle.
“And fries.”
“Naturally.”
“And Mr. Pickles ate one too.”
Alexei closes his eyes briefly. “Wonderful.”
I laugh again before crouching beside her. “Did Irina eat dinner?”
Ivy points toward the hallway leading to the staff offices. “She’s talking to Viktor because he says she keeps ignoring security rules.”
Alexei exhales through his nose. “That sounds accurate,” he mutters.
“She said your security men are excessive.”
