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He winks, “So do you.”

A woman appears behind the dogs, wrapped in a dark wool cardigan, her silver-streaked hair pulled back from her face.

"Don't encourage them, Daniil. They already believe they're in charge."

"That's because they are."

His aunt laughs and steps forward to kiss his cheek, though one of the Leonbergers makes a determined attempt to insert himself between them.

"Hello, darling."

"Good to see you, too." He kisses her cheek.

"Clearly." She turns to me, her expression warming. "And you must be Anna."

I smile, "I am."

"Come inside before you freeze. And you three, give them room."

The German Shepherd steps aside first, apparently satisfied that I've passed inspection. The Leonbergers take a little longer.

Rez catches my hand and leads me across the threshold.

Warmth envelops me immediately. The house smells of woodsmoke, fresh bread, and something savory simmering in the kitchen. A fire burns in the sitting room, and the table is set with white dishes, candles, and a low arrangement of evergreen branches and pinecones.

Beyond the windows, the garden rests beneath the snow.

Nothing about the house feels staged for visitors. Books are stacked on the side tables, photographs sit in frames along the mantel, and a pair of gardening gloves rest beside a notebook near the window. It is beautiful without trying to impress anyone.

The dogs follow us inside, apparently convinced that our arrival has improved their day considerably. One Leonberger settles near the fire while the other remains close enough to Rez that I suspect he has forgotten how to function independently. The German Shepherd positions herself where she can keep an eye on all of us.

"Do they always greet visitors like that?" I ask.

"Only the ones they like," his aunt says.

I look down at the Leonberger who is now leaning against my leg. "Then I suppose I've made some new friends.”

She takes my coat and hangs it beside Daniil’s, then turns back to me. "I've been looking forward to meeting you."

I glance at Rez. "He’s told me so much about you. And I have to admit, I hope to exchange numbers because one day I’d love to plant gardens that aren’t only beautiful but can be used for food and medicines.”

She looks at him. “Oh, Daniil, we must keep her.”

The next few days pass without anything particularly extraordinary happening.

Which, I discover, is precisely what makes them extraordinary.

I help his aunt in the kitchen, though she seems perfectly capable of feeding an army without my assistance. We talk over lunch, and she asks about my studies, the work I've done for my family, and the places I've lived. When I mention that I studied law but never completed the examinations required to qualify as a practicing lawyer, she wants to know why.

I explain that my family needed someone who understood its legal affairs. I became that person. Contracts, property matters, correspondence with attorneys, and the endless paperwork that accompanies an estate.

It is work I understand. I am good at it. Whether I want to do it forever is another question.

His aunt listens without interrupting, then asks whether I enjoy it.

"I enjoy the work," I tell her. "I like knowing what I'm looking at. I like understanding the consequences before someone else decides they don't matter."

"And the rest?"