But she always waved him away, as she did now. “Just be ready to answer the door when Red arrives. And keep us company, of course. After you put away the work DID sent home for you.”

Dot’s hands weren’t shaking—sometimes they were, if Margot didn’t walk home with her to keep her distracted. Sometimes she had to take a few minutes in her room, to take some deep breaths and just be out of the out-there. But tonight she was smiling and seemed at ease. It didn’t look like a front.

Though he’d make sure. “Can I at least get anything out for you while you relax for a moment and catch your breath?”

She knew what he was doing, of course, giving her an opening to excuse herself. Hence why her smile was soft. “I’m fine. We slipped out right on time, and I’ve been looking forward to this.”

He took the new packet of work and put it with the completed bundle and then took Dot’s coat from her and held out a hand for Margot’s. She held his gaze, those dark eyes intent. She apparently understood too. Of course she would. Dot hadn’t tried to hide her difficulties from this new friend. She shrugged out of her coat and held it out to him. “Thank you.”

“Certainly.” The way she held the coat, he couldn’t manage a brush of her hands. But if he positioned himself right when she left, he could help her back into it. Maybe let his hands rest for just a second on her shoulders.

Knowing well that his smile probably revealed the nature of his thoughts, if she cared to decipher them, he turned toward the coatrack.

When he turned back, it was with a question on his tongue. “So what frustrated you two today?”

Margot paused mid-reach for a pot, brows lifted. “Do we look frustrated?”

“Not at all.” He smiled and leaned against the table edge. “But there’s always something.”

“The ribbon on my typewriter broke.” Dot, never too shocked by anything he asked, pulled the flour canister forward. “And it was brand-new too. What about you, brother of mine?”

“Hm. Well, the neighbor above us kept playing that same phonograph record over and over, at top volume. I was about to tell Alexander that his ragtime band was sacked.”

Dot laughed. And looked to Margot. “What about you, Margot?”

She had such an interesting way of moving. Not fluid and graceful like a young lady who had studied the social arts, but rather each move was brisk, efficient. As if she calculated the most effectual order of movements and performed them accordingly as she did the simple tasks of meal preparation. A striking contrast to Dot, who paused in the center of the kitchen area even now and spun in a circle, obviously trying to remember what she’d been about to do next.