Her smile was small, but it was there. “Tea, I think.”

I fetched the kettle off the stove, checked the water level, and added more to it.

“You don’t have to make me tea.”

I shrugged. “I’m already over here.” The ferrets scrambled down my shoulders. I held my arms out like tiny bridges so they could get back onto the counters. They bounced over to Lou, chattering until one was combing through her hair and the other was sticking its nose in her ear. She laughed. “Thanks, you two.”

I messed around with the mugs, fished out the chamomile tea bags, and made us both a cup. “Want to talk about it?”

She blew on her mug. “You don’t have to do this, you know.”

I went back to scooping the rest of the dough. “Too late, the tea is made.”

She shook her head. “No, I mean, this.” She waved a hand back and forth between us. “Comfort me.”

I didn’t respond right away, focusing on the cookies like they might at any second tell me the secrets of the universe. Lou was giving me an out. Again. I could take it. Set my timer and…I examined her through my lashes, trying to gauge her expression. Miserable. Lou looked miserable and small.

My wolf chuffed. Not a threat. It was like he’d decided, and with that, mentally clicked her over into a sort of safe zone. I watched her and realized that I wasn’t afraid. My heartbeat was slow, steady.

I didn’t want to leave.

Lou needed comfort, and that—that was something I understood. A role I knew how to play. I washed my hands, dried them on a towel, walked around the counter, and as Jim had done a few days ago, held my arms open.

Lou frowned at me for a second, like she was trying to decide if this was a trap or not. The frown intensified until her face crumpled and the smallest, choked sob came out, as if she’d tried to catch it and missed. I didn’t think, I just closed her in tight against me.

“I’m so sorry,” Lou sobbed, her small fist grabbing my T-shirt.

Kodo made a sad noise, his eyes on mine for a second before he tried to burrow in between us.

“Why?”

Lou snuffled. “I don’t know.”

I laughed, squeezing her tighter. We stayed like that until my timer went off.

“You’re going to burn your cookies.”

“I can make new cookies.”

She gently pushed me away and hiccupped. “It’s okay.” She sniffed. “We lost one today.”

I checked the cookies, adding a few minutes because they weren’t quite done. “Lost one?”

“A familiar.” She sniffed again. “Mercury. A terrier mix. His little heart gave out.” Tears welled in her eyes again, that sad little sob making another break for it. The next thing I knew, I was wrapped back around her.

“It was my fault.”

I rubbed circles on her back with one hand, the other arm holding her tight. Noting absently—and a little guiltily—how much better I felt. For whatever reason, giving comfort to someone else always made me feel better. It was almost a relief, knowing I was doing something to help. “How was it your fault?”