“She’s in good shape,” Harris said, “considering she was alone outside in the cold. Linda thinks she was found pretty quickly, thank god. She’s super friendly—the dog, I mean. Shannon’s been taking good care of her.”
“Shannon’s that dog,” Troy said, pointing to the smallest dog there.
“No one owns her?” Ilya asked as he stood up. The unnamed dog squeezed between his legs.
“Not that we’ve been able to find. We know everyone around for miles.” Harris’s face turned angrier than Ilya had ever seen it. “Sometimes people drive dogs they don’t want out to the country, though.”
“Andleavethem?” Ilya asked, horrified. He’d grown up in Moscow and had seen plenty of stray dogs, but the idea of someone abandoning a dog that loved them—a part of their family and their home—was monstrous.
Harris nodded. “Yeah. It’s gross.”
“It’s fucking horrible,” Troy said.
Ilya headed toward the front door with five dogs all around him. Chiron walked in front, but kept turning to make sure Ilya was following. The new dog stayed close to Ilya’s ankles.
The house smelled amazing, and it was just as charming as Ilya had imagined. Packed with family history and people laughing and, yes, dogs.
“I think most people are in the living room,” Harris said, leading the way.
“Buckle up,” Troy muttered, “it gets loud in here.”
There were five people sitting in the living room. Harris went around the room, reintroducing Ilya to his two sisters and their husbands. When he got to his mom, Ilya interrupted him.
“How could I forget?” he asked silkily. “The best dance partner I have ever had.”
“Oh, stop it,” Mrs. Drover said. She was a short woman with gray hair that was cut into a stylish bob. He’d enjoyed a dance with her at a team charity event last year, which had thrilled Harris. Like her son, she was funny and easy to talk to.
“Is true,” Ilya insisted. “No one else has come close. Are you still with your husband?”
“I’m afraid so,” said a booming male voice behind Ilya. He turned and saw Harris’s dad grinning in the doorway.
Ilya sighed theatrically. “Too bad.”
Harris’s sister, Margot, stood to offer Ilya her armchair, but Ilya waved her off and sat cross-legged on the floor. “Are you sure?” Margot asked.
Ilya already had three dogs trying to climb into his lap. “Yes,” he said. “All of my friends are down here.”
Eventually they all moved to the dining room, where they crowded around a table and ate an incredible meal that included baked ham, scalloped potatoes, and, to Ilya’s delight, fresh-baked rolls.
“Dad made those,” Harris said. “They’ll go fast.”
For dessert there was chocolate cake. “This is so good,” Ilya exclaimed after his first bite. “Who made this cake?”
“Troy did!” Harris said proudly.
“With alotof help,” Troy added quickly. “I’ve never baked a cake before. Or anything, really.”
“You bake together!” Ilya said, grinning. “That is very cute.”
Troy dipped his head, but Ilya could tell he was blushing.
After dinner, Troy asked Ilya if he wanted to go outside with him. Ilya understood that he was looking for privacy, so he nodded and grabbed his coat and hat.
As soon as they were on the front porch, Troy blew out a breath that floated into the frigid darkness as a white puff. “I love that family, but man.”
Ilya laughed. “Is a lot of talking. Like a whole pile of Harrises.” He paused. “You would probably like to be in a pile of Harrises.”
Troy nudged him with his elbow. “Shut up.” He gripped the railing at the front of the porch and gazed up at the night sky. There were already a zillion stars visible. “You know something? This has been the best week of my life.”
