SHALLIE HAD WAITED to begin eating her sandwich until Cord returned to the kitchen. She was sitting at the table, skimming a copy of The Atlantic she’d found on the coffee table. He joined her and took a bite of his ham-and-cheese, with its tomato and pickle garnish. “Mmm.”

She bit into hers—plain cheese—and smiled in response. The dogs crept out from under the table and, mouth full, Cord told them to settle. To her obvious amusement, they did, flopping down near the kitchen door.

Shallie told him about an article she’d read, outlining the history of dogs’ relationships with humans. “It goes back at least ten thousand years. And dogs chose us—at first for practical reasons, mainly food.”

“So they’re the smarter ones.”

“I’m sure Brynne would confirm that,” she said with a grin.

“Don’t get me started!”

“Well, when she’s right, she’s right.”

“She’d say so—and I think Eli would, too. You know,” Cord added, “J.P. and I have the impression that he’s…interested in her.”

“Good! I never knew Brynne well back then, and I’d like to know her better. But I love the idea of Eli being interested in her. He’s always been such a serious guy. And she seems smart, someone with real social skills. I could see them as a good match, and I hope she’s just as interested in him.”

“We’ll see. I hope so, too.” Her enthusiasm pleased him. Probably because it sounded like approval. Which was how he and J.P. felt. The relationship, if it was one, had only reached its very early stages. Nothing formal, nothing spoken, as far as he knew.

After that, they talked about Russ, speculated about Bethanne and recalled some incidents from what felt like the long-ago past. “Do you remember that time Reba decided to cut Russ’s hair?” she asked.

“Yeah, he wasn’t seen in public for weeks!”

“She ended up shaving one side of his head. He freaked out, then ran off.”

They both laughed. “Poor guy,” Cord said.

“Eventually, he went to the barber on Main, who at least evened it out, although then he looked totally bald rather than half-bald. I don’t think he ever forgave her. And you can imagine how Norm turned the whole thing into a big joke.”

“Poor guy,” Cord said again. “I mean Russ, not Norm!”

“I’m trying to remember what he called him. Razored Russ, that was it. Oh, and Shaved Schafer.”

“No wonder Russ isn’t exactly sociable.”

“Reba felt kind of bad,” Shallie said. “But not that bad.”

“Figures,” he muttered. “Do you want a coffee, a glass of wine, a beer?”

She accepted a wine, he served himself a beer and then leaned back in his chair. “I have a proposition for you.”

Shallie raised her eyebrows.

“Not that kind!”

“O-kay, then. So it’s the boring kind?”