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I tuck the paperwork against my side and put a hand on my hip. “You make people nervous.”
He casually looks toward the hallway where she vanished. “She looked fine.”
“She looked like she was calculatin’ escape routes.”
Luka considers that. “She was carrying cat food.”
I open my mouth, then close it again. “You know what? You’re annoyingly difficult to argue with.”
The shelter grows busier around lunchtime. More volunteers arrive. Adoption appointments begin showing up. The phones continue ringing. One reporter actually appears at the front entrance before security redirects him elsewhere.
Jules celebrates the victory as if he had defended a medieval fortress.
By noon, my energy starts running low. Not enough to draw attention, but enough that everything feels heavier than it should. The noise, the movement, and the constant conversations wear me out until even smiling takes effort.
I finish reviewing a transport request and look up to find Jules standing beside my desk, holding a sandwich in one hand and a bottle of water in the other. The expression on his face tells me he has come prepared for battle.
“No,” I say.
“You haven't even looked at it.”
“I don't need to.”
“Maggie.”
I lean back in my chair and cross my arms.
“I'm workin’.”
“You're avoidin’ lunch.”
“Same thing.”
Jules drags the chair out across from my desk and drops into it. The movement makes it abundantly clear that he has no intention of leaving until this conversation is finished.
“Eat.” He places the sandwich directly on top of my paperwork.
The betrayal feels personal. “Excuse me.”
“Eat.”
The smell reaches me as soon as Jules sets the sandwich down. Turkey, cheese, and fresh bread. On any other day, I'd have eaten half of it before he finished lecturing me, but today my stomach turns the moment I smell it. I push it farther away.
“No.”
The teasing leaves him, replaced by the same concern I've been seeing from everyone today. I understand where it comes from, but that doesn't make it easier to stomach.
“I'm fine,” I tell him.
He crosses his arms over his chest. “Maggie.”
“My stomach's in knots.”
His eyebrows pull together. “Since when?”
“Since everything.”
The answer is close enough to the truth that I don't feel guilty saying it.
