Page 39 of Falling for the Grumpiest Protector

"You don't have to stay."

"I know."

But I want to. That realization is oddly pleasant.

Emma asks me about New York, and for a while we talk about the restaurant, the hours, the difference between buying ingredients there and here. I ask about her clinic. Betty tells me about a disastrous attempt at adding outdoor seating last summer. Emma contributes a story involving a runaway goat that apparently ended inside the coffee shop.

"You're lying."

"I wish I were," Betty says.

"It ate the corner of her menu board."

"I still haven't forgiven it."

I laugh hard enough that I have to put my cup down. And for a few minutes, I forget to feel guilty about laughing. The thought comes afterward. Lily would have laughed too. Maybe that's enough.

Emma glances at the clock.

"I have to head over to the farm later."

"The veterans farm?"

She nods.

"I spend a fair amount of time there."

"Because of the dogs?"

Her face brightens the way it does when someone asks about work they genuinely love.

"That's part of it. I helped develop the service-dog side of the program years ago. I still handle their medical care and training follow-up."

"You built the program?"

"Built is generous. I helped shape it. Jack and Javier had the vision. I just brought the dogs."

She smiles.

"They tend to do most of the heavy lifting."

I look at her with new interest.

"That's remarkable."

"It's rewarding," she says simply. "Which is different."

Betty reaches for a clean cup.

"Lily used to spend a lot of time there too."

I look at her.

"I knew she volunteered."

"She did," Emma says. "Whenever she felt up to it."

"What did she do?"