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Ivy nods solemnly. “Really loud.”
Beneath the table, Daisy doesn't so much as open an eye in response to the accusation.
“And Winston steals blankets,” Ivy continues.
Winston remains stretched across the floor near her feet, looking entirely innocent.
Roman glances toward the dogs. “A criminal.”
“That's what Maggie says.”
Maggie doesn't even try to hide her amusement.
“I've got evidence,” Ivy adds.
The conversation isn't much, but it fills some of the silence. More importantly, it keeps Ivy talking.
Every few minutes, Maggie encourages another bite of food while Ivy tells Roman stories about the other dogs and cats at the shelter. Before long, more food disappears from her plate. She does it without pressure or commands, never allowing the moment to become a battle. Instead, she uses encouragement, humor, and endless patience to guide Ivy toward another bite.
“How about one more for me, sweetheart?”
Ivy narrows her eyes at the fork. “Just one?”
“Scout's honor.”
“You weren't a scout.”
Maggie points her fork at Ivy. “You’re awfully observant for somebody avoidin’ her vegetables.”
A tiny smile appears on Ivy's face before she finally takes the bite.
Roman notices the exchange. My brother says very little during the meal, but I know him too well to miss what occupies his attention. He watches the room the way he watches everything. Patiently. Thoroughly. Nothing escapes him.
Several times, I catch him studying Maggie. Several more times, I catch him studying me while I watch Maggie. I ignore it, or at least I try to.
Dinner continues in relative peace. At one point, Roman sets down his wine glass and looks across the table.
“You own the shelter?” he asks.
Maggie looks mildly surprised. “That’s right.”
“You started it?”
She shakes her head. “No. I worked there for years. Miss Eleanor retired and sold it to me.”
Roman nods once. “Difficult business.”
A soft laugh leaves her. “That's one way to put it.”
“What is another?”
Maggie's smile appears. “Underfunded, overcrowded, emotionally exhausting, and somehow still the best thing I've ever done.”
Roman leans back, watching her. I recognize the look. He rarely asks follow-up questions something has piqued his interest.
“You enjoy it?”
“I love it.”
