She set her mug down and reached for the canine, her fingers moving through his coat with the ease of someone who’d been around dogs her whole life. Her entire face became animated and soft.
“Look at you,” she murmured. “You are so handsome and strong. I’m so glad you came to see me.”
Remington ate up her attention, leaning into her hand and completely forgetting to keep up his tough dog persona.
Wes understood what that was like. At one time, he’d been like that around Rowan also.
He watched a beat longer than he intended. But there was just something about the way Rowan looked at Remington . . .
For the first time since she’d arrived here, she appeared open and unguarded.
He looked away and glanced at Naomi instead.
“Coffee?” Naomi held up the carafe.
“I never refuse coffee.” He took the mug she offered and pulled out the chair across from Rowan.
A moment later the back door opened again, and Caleb and Hamilton stepped inside.
“Morning,” Caleb murmured.
A round of greetings echoed from everyone in the room.
Caleb went to the counter and poured himself a cup of coffee. Then he dropped into a chair at the table.
“You gotta meet our puppies,” Caleb told Rowan. “They’re adorable.”
“You have puppies?” Her eyes lit. “There’s nothing I love more than cuddling puppies.”
Wes could see that. It fit everything he knew about her. Maybe some things never did change.
Conversation drifted around the table—Caleb talking about the puppies, Naomi talking about Grace. Then it moved on to the expansion plans for the property.
Wes listened and tracked, sorting what was relevant from what was background.
Then Rowan leaned forward. “So let me get this straight. I know the nonprofit is your first priority. But other than that, I’m basically hearing that my brother is building a tiny dog empire in the mountains? Should we all be concerned?”
Caleb snorted. “A tiny dog empire? Nice. I prefer to call myself a visionary.”
“I’m pretty sure every supervillain says that at some point.” Rowan winked.
Naomi laughed, and Caleb shook his head.
Wes simply observed.
Rowan kept going—questions about the property, a story from a movie set about a malfunctioning fog machine and an actor who’d accidentally set part of his costume on fire.
Everyone laughed, and the energy around the table loosened the way it did when someone good at this took hold of a room.
Rowan had always been good at this.
But he’d also always been able to tell the difference between Rowan filling a room because she wanted to and Rowan filling a room because she needed to.
Back in high school it had taken him longer than it should have to learn that distinction. But he’d eventually learned it.
Rowan closed every pause before it could open. Every time the conversation slowed, she pushed it forward again.
She was performing, and she was doing it well enough that no one else at the table seemed to notice.
