Page 24
The certainty in her voice leaves no room for doubt. Not because she's trying to impress anyone but because it's true.
Roman studies her for another moment. “Most people would have chosen an easier path.”
Maggie glances down at Ivy. “Probably.”
“Why didn't you?”
The question feels simple. It isn't. My brother isn't really asking about the shelter.
Maggie considers it. “Because somebody has to help them.”
Roman remains silent.
She shrugs lightly. “The animals, I mean. Most of them didn't end up there because they did anythin’ wrong. Life just wasn't particularly fair to them.”
The answer explains more about her than anything else she's said all evening. Maggie doesn't help those animals because it's rewarding. She helps them because she believes someone should.
Ivy tugs on Maggie's sleeve. “Remember that orange kitten that got stuck on top of the supply closet?”
Maggie groans immediately. “I was hopin’ we'd never speak of that again.”
Ivy giggles. “You climbed the big ladder.”
“I did.”
“And then you got stuck,” Ivy giggles.
Maggie points her fork at Ivy. “The details are bein’ exaggerated.”
“You had to call Jules,” Ivy grins.
Maggie covers her mouth, trying and failing to hide her laughter. “I can’t believe you're tellin' this story.”
Ivy looks at Roman like she's sharing an important fact. “Maggie's good at saving animals.”
A faint flush creeps into Maggie's cheeks. “Most of the time.”
“All the time,” Ivy corrects.
Maggie laughs softly. Ivy joins her. For the first time all evening, Ivy sounds like herself.
Roman clears his throat. I glance up to find one dark eyebrow raised in my direction. The message is clear enough. My brother has already noticed where my focus keeps going tonight. I busy myself with my dinner rather than acknowledging it, but the faint amusement on his face tells me he understands exactly what he's seeing. The bastard enjoys this far too much.
Eventually, Ivy grows tired enough that exhaustion becomes impossible to hide. Her responses are slow, and her eyes droop. Several times, she leans against Maggie.
“You look sleepy, sweetheart,” Maggie murmurs.
“I'm not tired.” The protest arrives alongside a yawn.
Roman lowers his glass. My brother has never possessed much patience for small talk. The fact that he remains at the table listening to stories about dogs, kittens, and shelter mishaps is rare enough to qualify as a historical event.
“That's what all sleepy children say,” Maggie tells her.
“I'm not a child.” Ivy folds her arms across her chest. “I'm six.”
“Practically ancient,” I say.
Maggie laughs.
