Page 78 of Nobody Told Me Thrift Shops Sell Stolen Dragon Heirlooms

Miriam blinked. “The display?”

“The flow.” I stepped closer to the first photograph, then gestured down the line. “It starts with the problem, but it doesn’t linger there. Then training, placement, then the person out in the world. It doesn’t end with the dog being heroic. It ends with someone getting part of their independence back.”

Miriam said nothing. I worried I’d overstepped, but then her face softened, and I felt unexpectedly protective of her.

“You noticed that?”

“I did.”

“Most people just say they like the flowers.”

“The flowers are also good,” I said, because they were. “They’re cut low enough that people can see across the tables. Pretty without pulling too much focus. Whoever chose them understands that a centerpiece shouldn’t become an extra guest at the table.”

Miriam laughed a little unsteadily. “I chose them.”

“Excellent work. On both fronts.”

She looked at the photographs again, and when she spoke, her voice was lighter than her expression. “I studied architectural design. I used to do exhibit flow and accessibility consulting before I married Georgiana and accidentally became—depending on who’s speaking—charming, decorative, or very energetic.”

I knew that tone. It was the voice women used when they had been insulted enough times to turn the insult into an anecdote to make it less painful.

“Very energetic is what people call you when they can’t admit you’re good at something they undervalue,” I said, regretting it instantly. I should have made a joke instead. Jokes were easier to hand over. Truth required the other person to decide whether they wanted to hold it.

Thankfully, Miriam smiled. “Exactly. And you?”

“Me?”

“What do they call you when they’re avoiding saying competent?”

I thought of Payton & Wallace. Of coffee orders, jammed printers, and being asked to collate documents by people who didn’t know I’d found a setting on the machine that did half the work for me. I’d made myself useful enough to make people dependent on me, but not always respect me.

“Helpful,” I said with a grimace.

Miriam winced. “Oh, terrible.”

“The worst.”

“Deadly in professional environments.”

“Career quicksand.”

She nodded with complete seriousness. “You have my condolences.”

“Thank you. I’m managing.”

Max leaned against my leg, grounding me, though I hadn’t realized I needed it. The quartet started playing something brighter but no less elegant. Across the ballroom, Rafe had stopped pretending to examine an auction table and was now openly looking in our direction.

Miriam followed my glance. “Are you here for the charity, the museum, or him?”

“The safest answer is the museum.”

“And the less safe answer?”

“I like the charity. Max likes compliments.” I hesitated. “And Rafe needs help with your wife.”

“Ah. About the sword.”

I nodded. “Yes.”