A loud snort sounded behind them. “I see you’re imparting all your life wisdom to your offspring now,” his dad said. He stood in the doorway to the living room, leaning a little too casually on the frame for it to be a natural pose. “Don’t be surprised if she chucks it all in your face. That’s what children do.”

“Noted, Dad. Thanks.”

“What are you doing, anyway? It looks like you’re going to light a fire in the grate.”

Harrison sighed again. “That’s because I am going to light a fire in the grate.” For some reason, putting the action into words felt like just as much of a betrayal as the actual task. Bubbles knew it too—her head cocked in alarm.

His dad paused for an ominously long moment. “Sophie know what you’re doing?”

And there it is. “Nope.”

“Don’t you think you should check with her first?”

“Nope.”

“I think you should check with her first.”

Harrison gave an involuntary chuckle. It wasn’t just the knitting circle ladies who would have gladly laid their lives on the line for Sophie’s sake. Or Oscar. Or, Harrison was forced to admit, himself. His dad had clearly fallen under the same spell as the rest of them.

Not that he’d ever tell her as much out loud. He’d seen that look on her face yesterday when those two ladies had rushed to her rescue. No woman had ever wanted to be rescued less.

No woman had ever needed to be rescued less too.

“I know, but I want to surprise her,” Harrison said.

He’d hoped that would be the end of the conversation, but his dad pushed off the doorframe and drew closer to examine the box’s contents. “That’s not going to make much of a blaze,” he said.

Yes, well, that was the whole point of this exercise. A small fire. A small step. A small gift.

It wasn’t much, but Harrison had racked his brain trying to come up with a way to show his appreciation for everything Sophie was doing for him. Gift-giving had never been his forte, but even he knew that the standard offerings—money, a thank-you card, jewelry, hand-knit yellow dog sweaters—wouldn’t suffice. Not when the thing she was giving him was so huge.

And he didn’t mean the stupid weekend off. That was more punishment than gift: Friday, Saturday, Sunday. Three whole days of boring, quiet, empty living without her in it. It had only been one night, and he was already feeling the burden of it. He and Bubbles had enjoyed a long heart-to-heart last night about the merits of square-shaped versus circular kibble. This morning, their talk centered mostly on the crossword puzzle on the back of the cereal box.