My throat goes dry. I don’t know if she’s teasing or testing me, but she’s good at this. Her smile is bright, her tone easy, but something lingers in her eyes that makes it feel like more.
I clear my throat and reach for Dusty’s leash. “C’mon. Let’s get this routine over with.”
Dusty follows us around the house as I rattle off the boring parts—food times, the route he likes on Birch, the way he fakesa limp if he wants sympathy. Lulu dutifully nods, scribbling in a little notebook with one of those bright and sparkly pens she always has in her bag.
“You’re actually writing this down?” I ask, squinting at the pink ink glinting under the lights.
“Some of us take responsibility seriously, Miller,” she chirps, jotting as Dusty noses at her elbow. She sets the notebook aside and crouches beside him, both hands sinking into his fur. “And Dusty is definitely someone I’ll take great responsibility for.”
Her voice softens, coaxing his tail into a full-body wag while she talks to him like he’s the only one in the room. And the thing is, he believes her. Hell, I do too.
It’s a stupid thing, the way relief loosens something in my chest. If I had to drop him at some kennel, leave him with strangers, I’d spend the whole road trip waiting for a phone call. But with Lulu, he leans into her touch as if he’s already chosen her, and I know I won’t have to worry.
Before I can show her where his brush is, her phone buzzes on the counter. She stands to glance at it, smiles, then swipes to answer.
“Hey, big brother.”
Every muscle in my shoulders tenses. Not because she’s talking to Eli—he already knows she’s going to be dog-sitting for me. What twists is the way my gut reacts, hearing her voice bright and familiar inmykitchen, as if she belongs here.
I busy my hands with Dusty’s water bowl, filling it slower than I usually would while I pretend I’m not listening.
“Mmhmm,” she hums into the phone. “Yeah, long day. Dragon Delacourt popped in again, breathing fire as per usual. Honestly, the kids are more scared of her than they are of math.”
My head tilts before I can stop it. So the dragon principal she’s joked about at brunch before isn’t an exaggeration.
She rolls her eyes, fiddling with the edge of her notepad. “And of course Pamela made another scene. Yeah, Dylan’s mom. I swear she’s auditioning for Cruella de Vil at this point. But it’s fine.”
Fine.Except the flicker I saw on her face earlier tells me it wasn’t.
“Anyway,” she continues, shifting her weight, “Career Day’s next month, and guess what? Guess who was volunteered to provide the celebrity appearance?”
I can practically hear Eli’s groan through the phone.
“Uh-uh. Don’t even try. Delacourt already checked the schedule and said there are no away games. So you’re on the hook, Mr. NHL.”
She grins at whatever he mutters back, but it looks thin and practiced, as if she’s used to laughing off his dismissals.
“I’ll buy you a coffee,” she bribes, sing-song. “Or three. Don’t make me beg in front of the PTA.”
This time, I can hear his complaints from her phone, then his reluctant agreement. She beams like she’s won, even though her shoulders are still a little slumped.
I shove my phone out, thumb scrolling too fast as I open the food app, ordering my dinner for tonight. Without thinking too hard about it, I add another portion. Make it gluten free. Toss in a side of fries, just in case.
The call ends, and she exhales slowly, her eyes glazed as she watches Dusty. Then she notices me watching her.
“What?” she asks, tucking a loose strand of hair back.
“Nothing.” My voice comes out rougher than I mean it to. I clear my throat. “Just wondering if you’re gonna make Dusty a color-coded binder next?”
She brandishes the glitter pen at me, her smile creeping back. “Don’t tempt me. He deserves organization.”
Dusty barks once, clearly in agreement.
Something in her face softens when she crouches back down to scratch his ears, and I know if I let her walk out now, I’ll spend the whole night replaying that thin smile and wondering if I should’ve done more.
“Food’s on the way,” I say, leaning against the counter, trying to sound casual. “You staying or what?”
Her head pops up, surprise flashing before her lips curve slowly. “Depends. What gourmet feast are we talking about here?”
