"The injured dog—where is it?"
"Mrs. Cameron has it. She's bringing it here."
"Call the rescue in Granville. They have emergency services."
"But."
"Daisy." I use my command voice, the one that used to make special forces operators freeze. "Make the call."
She does, hands shaking. When she hangs up, she looks lost.
"I never say no. That's the first time I've ever redirected an animal."
"Good. You need to do it more often."
"I literally don't know how."
"Then you need help. When's your shift end?"
"Technically? Two hours ago. But I need to feed the boarding animals and—"
"No. Clock out. I'm buying you breakfast."
"Rex, I have responsibilities."
"And you're no good to anyone dead on your feet. Clock out, little girl."
Something changes in her eyes at those words. Recognition. Want. Wariness.. “You can't just order me around."
"I'm not ordering. I'm offering. Breakfast. A friend. Someone to help you figure this out before you collapse."
She studies me for a long moment. "Just breakfast? Because I don't even know you."
"You know I've been coming here for six weeks with a perfectly healthy dog just to see you. That has to count for something."
A tiny smile. "That's either romantic or creepy."
"Little of both?" I admit. "But seriously—breakfast. Let me help."
She laughs, wet and shaky. "Fine. Breakfast. But I'm paying for myself."
"You just said you spent your last fifty on cat food."
"I have a credit card."
"That you're maxing out on animal expenses. I'm buying."
Twenty minutes later, we're at Pinewood Cafe. Daisy's inhaling pancakes like she hasn't eaten in days.
"This is nice," she says between bites. "Having someone else make a decision. Even a small one."
"You need more of that?"
She sets down her fork. "What I need is a personality transplant. Or a backbone. Or someone to follow me around saying no for me."
"I could do that. Help you set boundaries. Learn to protect yourself."
"Why would you do that?"
