Stanley cocked his head again and made the funny little grumbling sound in his throat that Ryan had grown fond of throughout the day.
“I think he’s an old soul,” he said.
Grace’s smile widened and she turned towards him, her eyes dancing. “I like that. Heisan old soul. That sums Stanley up perfectly. Well done.”
Laughing softly, she reached out and patted his arm. The gesture was, Ryan knew, just a simple acknowledgement of his amusing description of the dog. But Grace’s hand on his arm felt like more than the friendly pat it was intended to be.
At least, it felt like more than that to Ryan.
But before the thought had fully registered, Grace was already turning away to finish wiping down the kitchen counters and the moment—such as it was—had vanished.
Ryan wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or disappointed.
