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“And they all want pictures after eleven? That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

I put my seat belt on. “Let’s do them.”

She blinked at me. “What?”

“Let’s go do them. Unless you need to get home,” I said.

She shook her head. “No, I don’t. But… are you sure? You want to drive me around taking pictures of billboards? Don’t you have to sleep?”

“I’m not tired.”

She gave me a look like she didn’t believe me.

“I’m really not,” I said. But I would have done it anyway, even if I were. I wanted to help her.

She studied me in the faint glow of the billboard like she was trying to decide if I meant it.

By the way she always balked at help, I wondered if it got offered enough. It didn’t seem natural for her to take it. She didn’t want the ride to the hospital, I’d had to coax her to breakfast, force myself into her apartment to get her luggage. Anytime she took anything from anyone, she was apologetic and it felt like a last resort.

I think she’d been on her own a long time. Used to doing everything herself. Maybe because people let her down? Her dad. Her mom wasn’t always dependable.

Mike wasn’t always dependable either. I hated to say it, but he wasn’t.

I would not let her down. Ever.

In fact, I think this was the moment that cemented that for me. Where I knew I would do things for her without asking. Without her knowing, even. Because even the act of accepting help took a toll on her. And her life deserved to be a little easier. Even if she didn’t know who was making it that way.

Or why.

25

LARISSA

You have to feed him with a flat hand,” I said. “Like the way you feed the goats at a petting zoo or he’ll bite your fingers.”

Chris laughed from the driver’s seat. “He doesn’t do that to me.”

“What do you mean? He bites me every time I give him a treat. He’s too excited.”

“You gotta make him wait until he’s calm,” he said, changing lanes. “He has to be a good boy to get a treat.”

“So what you’re saying is, he’s a totally different dog with you,” I deadpanned.

Chris glanced at me, his eyes sparkling.

We’d been driving around for two hours. It was almost 1:00 a.m.—way past his bedtime. We were all the way out by Hugo now. It would be another thirty-five minutes to get home, but he’d insisted on doing one more picture.

I felt bad, but I did need the money.

And I was having a good time.

“I’m going to have a word with Woofarine when I get home,” I said.

“You think he can be negotiated with?” he asked.

“Yes. I think we should normalize arguing with our pets. He threw up yesterday, by the way.”