“This old dump?” Wallace laughed, though there was a caginess to his gaze that made her feel he had more fondness for this house than he let on. Which, to be fair, seemed about on par for a Parks man. God forbid one of them admit to such a normal thing as emotional attachment to an old family home. “No. Too many bad memories. We want a fresh start.”

Her next question wasn’t any easier. “Does Harrison know?”

“No!” Wallace’s head jerked up with a start. “And you’re not to go telling him, understand? Nothing is finalized yet. Not but what he’ll be glad to see the back of me… We don’t get on. We never have.”

On the contrary, Sophie had a suspicion that they were as tied to each other as two people possibly could be. Oh, they were grumpy and antagonistic, and both obviously liked to have things their own way, but they were all each other had. With the exception of Aunt Caroline and the occasional helping hand from Oscar, neither one had mentioned another friend or relative who’d stepped up to help a struggling single father raise his diabetic son.

In fact, they’d been alone together for so long, she doubted they were aware just how weirdly codependent they’d become.

No one knew that kind of relationship better than Sophie. When sacrifices were made—when one life was put on hold for the sake of another—it was impossible to just pack up and move on. No matter how much you might want to.

“I think he has a right to know,” Sophie said gently. “It’s as much his life as yours.”

Wallace pointed a gnarled finger at her. “If you say so much as a word to him, young lady…”

“You’ll what?” Her voice took on a hint of the steel that had been appearing so much in Parks company lately. “Let me remind you that I don’t work for you, or even for your son. I work for Oscar.”

Wallace’s internal struggle was visible on every line of his face. His lips twitched and twisted and finally turned flat. “Please,” he said. “I’m asking as a personal favor. I’ll tell him the moment my plans are finalized, I promise.”

Had he turned surly or made more of those gruff demands, Sophie might have been able to stand her ground. That bleak look, however, and that plea in his voice…

She sighed. “The moment they’re finalized,” she warned.

“Word of a Parks,” he promised. Before she had time to wonder just what she’d gotten herself into, he added, “Well?”

“Um. Well, what?”

He released an exasperated sigh. “What kind of dog should I get for Minerva? Something friendly but not too friendly. Clean and low-maintenance. And none of that messy shedding everywhere, yeah?”

She splayed her hands helplessly. Although she might be comfortable selecting service animals for clients with very specialized health and professional needs, she had no idea what to tell him. What she wanted to say—that he couldn’t move out without at least talking to his son first—was clearly off the table.