"We sure will."
Faye fussed around Zia in the kitchen, making sure she had fruit with her eggs and bacon, and shooting Reaves worried looks while Zia explained why Alara wasn't down yet.
All he could do was shrug at her. It wasn't as though he could go marching upstairs and into Alara's bedroom. At least, he didn't think so. But the more minutes that ticked by, the less important that seemed.
He turned to Zia when he realized she was talking to him while he was lost in his thoughts.
"…do you think he's lonely?"
He stared at her, feeling guilty that he hadn't been paying attention.
"I think he'll be just fine," said Faye. "Dogs are clever creatures, you know. They can take care of themselves. They don't need us humans as much as we like to think they do."
Zia scowled at her. "He doesn'tneedus. But I think he's lonely. He's very sad, you know." She turned to Reaves. "Do you think he'll be okay?"
"I do, Z. You said he's been at the shelter for a while now. That means he's used to it there. He's been okay there for a while."
She nodded grudgingly. "I suppose so. But I hope he can get out of there soon."
Faye raised her eyebrows at Reaves, and he shrugged again. He wasn't about to tell either of them that the first thing he'd done when he got home to his apartment last night was check out the shelter's website and look up the requirements for adopting a dog.
He set his fork down. He'd been starving when he arrived, but filling his stomach seemed less important while Alara was alone upstairs and, according to Zia, wasn't doing great.
He could eat more later. And that thought made him shake his head. Until now, he hadn't ever appreciated just how lucky he was.
Zia's fingers were sticky with the jam she'd been smearing on her toast, and she waggled them in the air. "I'll clean up, and then we can make orange juice for Mom."
Faye pushed the step stool in front of the sink. "Come on over here, missy. We'll get you cleaned up. We want those fingers good and clean."
Zia shot a look back at Reaves over her shoulder, and he had to hide a smile. He knew how she felt. Faye had called him to that sink to wash his hands so many times when he was a kid—and as a boy who'd spent most of his time running around the vineyards, his hands had usually been covered in worse than jam.
By the time there was a pitcher of fresh orange juice on the counter, Reaves was pacing in front of the windows, debating whether he should text Alara or just go up there.
Faye came and rested her hand on his shoulder. "Now the orange juice is made, I think Zia should take a tray up for her mom. It’s getting late, and we want her to eat something, right?"
He and Zia both nodded as Faye started to load up a tray.
"She won't eat all of that," said Zia.
"No, I don't expect she will," Faye replied. "But she'll be able to choose what she wants or have a bite of all of it." She handedZia a bowl full of blueberries and strawberries. "Can you carry that without spilling them?"
Zia straightened up. "Of course I can. I can put them on the tray when I take it."
"Oh no, young lady. I know you're capable of a lot of things, but that tray needs to be carried by a grown-up."
Zia's lips pressed into a thin little line, until Faye added, "And since there isn't one of those around to do it, we'll have to ask your Prince Daddy, won't we?"
Zia chuckled and came to take Reaves's hand. "You are a grown-up, aren't you?"
"I am," he said, shooting Faye a mock-hurt look.
She burst out laughing when Zia added, "You're only a prince for now. But you'll be a king one day soon. I know it."
"Thanks, Z." He picked up the tray, shooting Faye a grateful smile, and realizing just how many times in his life she'd engineered things so he could do what he wanted, before he'd been able to figure it out for himself.
When they reached Alara's bedroom, Zia went in ahead of him, and he hovered outside the door.
"We brought you some breakfast, Mom. Prince Daddy carried the tray."
