‘You were right,’ he said.
Rowan wiped down the small table Daisy had been standing near. ‘About what?’
‘The parlour. It’s open. Bright. Practical for me, but not necessarily comforting for the clients.’
Rowan straightened. ‘You noticed.’
‘Try not to look so shocked. I do occasionally absorb information.’
‘I wasn’t shocked.’
‘That is your shocked face.’
‘I don’t have a shocked face.’
‘No, you have one face for,mildly unimpressedand another forseverely unimpressed. I’m learning the difference.’
Rowan looked at him for a long moment.
Then, to Marcus’s astonishment, he smiled.
Not a twitch. Not the ghost of something he might deny later.
A real smile.
Small, yes. Brief, absolutely. But real.
Marcus forgot what he was holding.
Unfortunately, what he was holding was Daisy’s water bowl.
It tipped just enough to slosh water over the front of his jeans.
Rowan looked down.
Marcus looked down too.
There was a pause.
‘Not a word,’ Marcus said.
‘I didn’t say anything.’
‘You were thinking it very loudly.’
‘I was thinking you may want to stand further away from water bowls.’
‘Helpful. Thank you.’
The bell tinkled again before Rowan could answer.
Bertie arrived in a whirlwind of enthusiasm, pulling his owner behind him and wagging with such force that his entire body curved into a comma. Marcus barely had time to greet him before the spaniel launched himself at Marcus’s knees.
‘Bertie, darling, no,’ his owner cried.
‘It’s all right,’ Marcus said, laughing as Bertie’s paws skidded down his thighs. ‘Hello to you too, handsome. Full of beans today?’
Bertie answered by trying to lick his chin.
