Page 4 of Shadow Justice

“I wish I could take him today, but I’ve got to study between trainings. He would have been good at helping this morning. A terrier mix tried to unionize the small-dog group, Pancake committed grand theft liver treats, and a poodle named Susan refused to walk over a blue mat because, according to her owner, she didn’t care for its energy. So, a normal day.”

“I thought Susan was making progress.”

“Susan is. Her owner, not so much.”

Maya slid a fresh tray of cinnamon rolls into the display case, and Roni made an appreciative sound. “Also, I’m starving. Give me one of those and whatever coffee will keep me from lying down in the agility tunnel until noon.”

“That would be our house dark roast with a shot of espresso and a written apology to your adrenal glands.”

“Perfect.”

Holly poured the coffee while Roni wandered to the pickup counter and stole a broken corner of cinnamon roll from the sample plate. Roni had been part of Sanctuary before it was Sanctuary, before the sign went up, before the paint dried, before Holly had stopped waking at three in the morning with financial panic trying to claw its way out of her chest.

Roni had scrubbed floors, hauled chairs, argued about menu fonts, and once stood in the middle of the dining room holding two pendant lights over her head while Holly decided which one made the brick wall look warmer.

She was the sister Holly’d never had. Roni had a way of claiming people and then behaving as if the matter had been settled by court order. She’d claimed Holly in high school, when Holly’s mother had been between jobs, boyfriends, and apartments, and Holly had been too proud and too tired to admit that sometimes she didn’t know where she belonged.

Roni had dragged her to the Fleming house for dinner, homework, movie nights, birthdays, snow days, bad days, and random Wednesdays when she claimed her grandmother had cooked too much and needed help with leftovers.

Holly had known better, but she’d gone anyway.

She’d envied the Flemings then, even after understanding the grief stitched through their family. Reid and Roni had lost their parents young and been raised by their grandparents, but their house had still felt solid in a way Holly’s never had. There were framed photos on the walls, a table big enough for arguments and dessert, a grandmother who asked if you’d eaten, and Judge Fleming reading the newspaper in his chair like the world might misbehave but order would eventually be restored.

Holly’s childhood had been a series of temporary addresses, late notices, overheard arguments, and adults who loved her in unreliable bursts. She’d learned early that nothing stayed steady just because you needed it to. The Fleming house had been the first place where she could set down her backpack and believe it might still be there when she came back.

It was why Roni still dropped by with dinner invitations, spare keys, extra dog treats, and a stubborn determination to not let Holly drift into her apartment above the shop and call loneliness independence.

Roni accepted the coffee Holly handed her and took a sip. “Marry me.”

“You already proposed last week when I gave you the maple scone.”

“The offer still stands.” Roni reached for her cinnamon roll bag. She was studying to get a real estate license. Not to replace the doggy daycare, but to supplement it. “Let’s hit Fredo’s for dinner soon. I need pasta, and you need to leave this building for reasons unrelated to Blue’s digestive schedule.”

Holly wiped the counter. “I leave the building.”

“Walking your dog to the park while mentally calculating payroll does not count.”

“It counts to Blue.”

“Blue also thinks barking at the vacuum counts as civic engagement.” Roni pointed the cinnamon roll at her. “Fredo’s. Seven on Sunday. Unless you have a date with Collin?”

Holly rolled her eyes. “Collin is not my type.”

Roni snorted. “No one’s your type.”

“That’s not true.”

“Really? Because in the past six months alone, you’ve rejected Collin, who is gainfully employed and has all his original teeth; Tristan, who owns a cabin and makes his own pasta; and Matt, who was admittedly too into triathlons but has excellent shoulders.”

“Matt referred to his bicycle as his truth and said coffee was a crutch.”

Roni winced. “I forgot that part. In my defense, his shoulders were very persuasive.”

“Your matchmaking criteria need work.”

“My matchmaking criteria are simple. Is he kind? Is he single? Does he seem unlikely to store bodies in a crawl space? If yes, I consider him viable.”

“Comforting.”