“Oh, sugar, I don’t know if?—”
Jules bumps her lightly with his elbow. “You’ve been invited.”
She shoots him a look.
I let it play out for a moment, watching the surprise catch her. I decide for her.
“Tomorrow night,” I say.
She looks at me again, and this time she doesn’t glance away, her eyes holding mine like she’s trying to read what I’m not saying. Her breath catches, just enough to notice, her fingers curling slightly at her side like she needs something to hold onto.
“Seven.”
It isn’t a question.
Her mouth parts, then closes again, her eyes staying on mine, like she’s considering it and understands exactly what I’m offering.
“Okay,” she says.
Jules lets out a low laugh. “Well, that was easy.”
Maggie doesn’t look at him.
“No,” she says quietly, her eyes still on mine. “It wasn’t.”
Jules grabs a bag of supplies, slinging it over his shoulder. “I’ll get the rest,” he says, already turning. “Before you change your mind and walk out with a third one.”
“I’m not taking a third dog,” I say.
“Give it a week,” he says over his shoulder.
Maggie huffs under her breath, but there’s a smile there as she moves to help, gathering what’s needed without wasting time. Bowls, food, a folded crate, a leash, and a collar that are already clipped together. I take the crate carrying it toward the door.
Ivy stays close, the puppy still in her arms, and Daisy now at her side on a leash that Maggie hands over carefully. “Hold it firm,” Maggie says, guiding Ivy’s hand. “She’ll test you if you don’t.”
“I got it,” Ivy says, serious now, her grip tightening as Daisy steps forward.
Maggie watches her for a second, then nods once. “You do.” Her eyes find mine, and I don’t look away. After a moment, I turn and head for the door.
The air outside is cooler, the late afternoon light cutting across the lot. The driver is already moving, opening the trunk as I approach. I set the crate in then step back as Ivy climbs in the back seat, careful with the puppy, and Daisy following with a small jump once the leash loosens.
“Easy,” I say.
“I know,” she answers, already adjusting them both, her hands moving between them like she’s done this longer than she has.
I get in after her, the door closing behind me with a solid click, and the car pulls away.
Ivy doesn’t stop talking. “We need a name,” she says, looking down at the puppy, then at Daisy, then back again like she’s trying to solve it in real time. “It has to match. Not the same, but like… it goes together.”
I lean back, watching her. “What are you thinking?”
“I don’t know yet,” she says quickly. “Maybe something with an ‘S’ or a ‘B’ or… no, wait. What if it’s something funny, but not too funny, because then it won’t sound right when I call him.”
She keeps going, her words running together, and her attention moving between the two dogs as she tests names out loud, rejecting them almost as fast as she says them.
My focus moves elsewhere. Not to the road. To Maggie. The way she stood in front of me without backing down, even when she knew what I was doing. The way she looked at me when I toldher to come to my house, like she understood exactly what that meant and chose to accept it anyway.
My hand rests against my thigh, my fingers pressing once before easing. The pull is still there, stronger now. It’s not just the way she looks, though, that’s part of it. The curve of her mouth when she’s holding something back. The way her hair slips loose around her face, and she doesn’t fix it. The heat under her skin when she passes close enough. That part is easy, familiar. This isn’t, and it lingers in a way I don’t ignore.
