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The words are quiet enough that I almost miss them.
I turn toward her. “Which part?”
She gives a short, humorless laugh. “Pick one.”
Her eyes focus on her hands. “What do we do now?”
The question takes me by surprise. Not because I don't have an answer, but because it isn't really a question. It's the first crack I've seen. The apartment is only part of it. I can see that much in the way she stares at her hands instead of looking at me.
“The apartment. The shelter. Ivy. Me livin’ at your house.” She releases a tired breath. “Every time I think I've figured out what the next few days look like, somethin’ else happens.”
I watch her struggle to put words around something that doesn't have an easy answer.
Maggie likes plans. She likes schedules and routines. She runs an animal shelter where chaos waits around every corner, and somehow she keeps it all moving because somebody has to. The last few weeks have taken every bit of certainty she had and torn it apart piece by piece.
“We handle the next thing in front of us,” I tell her.
She narrows her eyes. “That's your answer?”
“Yes.”
She turns toward me fully now. “It sounds suspiciously like somethin’ a man says when he doesn't actually have a plan.”
I find myself fighting a smile. “I always have a plan.”
“That's somehow worse.”
A quiet laugh leaves me before I can stop it. The sound earns a look of surprise from Maggie, as though she didn't expect it any more than I did.
The amusement fades from her face just enough for the exhaustion underneath to show again.
“You're tired.”
Her head turns. “That's a real impressive observation.”
“You looked exhausted an hour ago. Now you look ready to fall asleep sitting up.”
She gives me a tight smile. “You always this charmin’?”
“Only with you.” The corner of my mouth lifts. I reach across the space between us and take her hand.
She looks down at our joined fingers before focusing on me again.
“Maggie.” The teasing disappears completely. “You don't need to spend tonight worrying about what happens tomorrow.”
Her eyebrows pinch together. “I don’t?”
“No.” My thumb brushes across her knuckles. “I don't care who started this. I don't care how long they've been planning it. Whoever is behind it is eventually going to learn the same thing everyone else learns.”
She gives me a skeptical look. “What's that?”
I lift my free hand and tilt her chin toward me. “That coming after you is a mistake.”
Maggie freezes and looks at me. Then the tension begins to leave her shoulders.
“I trust you,” she whispers.
I tighten my hold on her hand. “You should.”
