I yelped, grabbing the leash with both hands, and Ephram instinctively stepped closer, reaching for it as well. His boot hit the same patch of mud I had just tested with my life. He went down hard, not gracefully, one knee in the mud, the other foot sliding out as Daisy barked once in what sounded like surprise.
I stared at him.
He stared at me.
Then Ephram laughed a full, helpless laugh that broke something open in the cold air. I started laughing too, the sound bursting out of me before I could stop it. I bent over, hands on my knees, laughing so hard my sides hurt, mud on my coat and my hair probably congealed with mud at the back of my head.
Daisy came forward, putting muddy paws on his legs.
Ephram pushed himself up, face flushed, hair slightly out of place, uniform now decorated with muddy streaks that were absolutely not in the job description.
“This,” he said between laughs as he stood up, “is not what I anticipated.”
I wiped at my cheek and immediately regretted it because my hand was muddy and now my face probably was too.
Atlas stood between us, tail wagging, eyes bright, clearly pleased with his work.
Ephram’s laughter tapered off into a smile, and for a moment he just looked at me. His hand lifted, hesitated, then reached toward my hair.
“You have—” he began.
“A twig,” I guessed.
“Yes,” he said softly, fingers brushing near my temple as he carefully pulled it free.
The touch was brief, innocent, and somehow it shifted everything. Ephram’s hand lingered for half a second too long, his gaze dropping to my mouth like his body had made the decision before his brain approved it.
My breath caught.
The yard noise faded, replaced by the sound of my own heartbeat and the faint rustle of Daisy’s leash as she shifted.
Ephram leaned in slightly.
I didn’t move away.
Then Moose barreled past us like a cannonball, barking with joy and the moment shattered.
Ephram blinked, stepping back so quickly he almost tripped again.
I cleared my throat, cheeks burning, and pointed my camera toward the chaos like I had planned it.
“Great,” I said too brightly. “That’s… great footage.”
Ephram’s voice was rougher than usual when he answered. “Yes.”
I turned back to filming with an intensity that suggested I had suddenly become deeply invested in capturing the exact angle of Moose’s bounding enthusiasm. Ephram focused on regaining control of the leashes.
We got the shots we needed, walking the dogs along the fence line. Close-ups of happy faces and wagging tails. Ephram kneelingto scratch behind Daisy’s ears while Atlas leaned heavily against his leg like he had chosen his person. The footage was imperfect and energetic and alive in a way that made my chest feel warm when I reviewed it quickly on the screen.
“This is good,” I said honestly.
Ephram glanced at the phone. His expression shifted from concentration to quiet surprise. “It looks… natural.”
“That’s because it is,” I said. “People respond to that.”
He nodded slowly, as if absorbing something larger than just social media strategy.
The volunteers thanked us profusely as they took the dogs back from us. We stepped back outside, both of us carrying that slightly dazed feeling that comes from physical exertion mixed with emotional whiplash.
