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Mr. Pickles ignores him completely and licks my chin.
Jules smirks over his cup. “Looks like you’ve been replaced.”
Alexei looks deeply offended.
The fifteen minutes Alexei allowed turns into nearly two hours before either of us notices. I spend the time talking with volunteers, reassuring worried adopters, cuddling anxious animals, and somehow avoiding lifting anything heavier than a clipboard. Alexei reminds me no fewer than four times that I was supposed to be heading home already. I ignore him every single time.
Eventually, he appears to realize that physically carrying me out in front of the volunteers would damage his reputation, so he contents himself with watching me like a hawk instead. Every time I bend too far or reach too high, his hand appears on my back, or his voice comes from somewhere nearby, reminding me to stop being stubborn.
As the afternoon sun begins sinking lower in the sky, I find myself standing near the damaged wing, staring at the blackened walls behind the plastic barriers. The smell is worse here, all smoke and scorched wood and ruined drywall. Cleanup crews have already removed debris from the hallway, but I can still see where the fire chewed through the laundry room, leaving the recovery wing scarred.
Alexei joins me without a word, standing close enough that his sleeve brushes mine.
“It’s worse up close,” I admit, wrapping one arm around myself.
“It’ll be repaired,” he says.
“I know.” I nod, though the words don’t make the ache disappear. “It’s just hard to look at.”
His hand touches my lower back, warm and careful. “Then look at me.”
I turn toward him, and the calm in his face makes it easier to breathe. “You're getting’ real good at holdin’ me together,” I say quietly.
For the first time since the fire, I think maybe we’re all going to be okay.
After dinner, Ivy sprawls across the rug in the sunroom with Winston while I stretch out on the sofa. Daisy claims her usual spot against my side, her body pressed to my hip.
Roman disappears into the office to take a call, but Alexei stays with us. He occupies the opposite end of the sofa with paperwork balanced on his lap, though I suspect he's spent more time watching me than reading anything.
We're halfway through chapter six when Ivy suddenly looks up from the book resting in her lap. “Maggie?”
“Yeah, sweetheart?” I ask, brushing my fingers absently through Daisy's fur.
Ivy watches me with that serious little face that always makes her look older than six. “Why won’t Papa let you carry anything?”
I freeze.
My eyes find Alexei’s across the sofa. He sets the paperwork aside and gives a small nod.
Now.
Oh boy.
I draw in a slow breath. Daisy lifts her head and nudges my hand until I scratch behind her ears, and Winston raises his chin from the rug as though he can feel the sudden tension in the room.
“Come here,” I tell Ivy.
She climbs onto the sofa beside me and scoots closer until she's tucked against my side. Winston abandons his spot on the rug and rearranges himself across Ivy’s lap, resting his chin across both our legs. Daisy presses herself more firmly against my hip like she’s appointed herself emotional support.
“There’s somethin’ we need to tell you,” I say, brushing a strand of hair away from Ivy’s cheek.
Her eyes widen. “Am I in trouble?” she asks, looking nervously at Alexei.
A laugh slips out before I can stop it.
“No, solnyshko,” he assures her.
I take a careful breath, aware of how important this moment is. Ivy has lost more than any child should. She has learned too young that people can disappear, that love can be ripped away, and safety isn’t always as solid as adults promise it is. I want to give her joy, but I also need to give her certainty.
