“I keep my Christmas decorations up year-round.” Trish tilted back her chair and whispered to Luke behind Kat, who sat in the middle desk. “I have about thirty nativity sets and at least one tree in every room, including the bathrooms. It’s getting to where there’s hardly any flat surfaces left in my house. I just about have to push Christmas knickknacks to the side in order to set a mixing bowl on my kitchen counter.”

“I don’t have a single thing on my kitchen countertops,” Kat informed them. “Not even a toaster or a utensil holder. All of that is best stored in cabinets.”

“What about a coffee maker?” Trish asked.

“I don’t drink coffee, remember? It’s full of caffeine and terrible for you.”

Sounds reached him from the hallway beyond the closed door. A commotion of panting and dogs’ nails against concrete. Finley had returned. His chest eased with relief.

As intrusive as Trish and Kat were, Finley was worse. All day long, he’d pass her in the hallway, smell her perfume, or hear the murmur of her voice as she talked on the phone in her office.

Those small things shouldn’t have registered with him. Instead, he noticed.

Then, right when he’d succeed at settling his attention on work, she’d arrive at his elbow. She’d ask questions about the Center’s social media, website, or email. Or request his help with the dogs. Or—strangest of all—she’d drop off a bottled water, a vegan protein bar, a bag of nuts, a piece of fruit. It’s like she was worried he’d starve.

He’d gained weight after entering prison because he’d put on muscle. He didn’t look like a starving man.

The door to the workroom opened, and Finley entered like a ray of sun, brightening a space that had been dim and dull. Her hair was tangled from the bike ride. She wore the hat from the day they’d met, a black patterned dress with a long, wide skirt, and tall boots. The rolled mats they used for their doggy yoga classes filled her arms.

He set his jaw. She’d worn a dress to ride a bike?

“May I have everyone’s attention, please?” she asked.

The women swiveled toward her expectantly.

“The work we do is stressful and emotionally draining. It’s difficult to advocate for animals with those who won’t listen to reason or accept new and better methods of population management. It can feel like trying to move a redwood tree with your bare hands. And then, of course, there’s the sorrow that comes from seeing the plight of animals in need. And the helplessness of the realization that the four of us in this room can’t rescue them all. Compassion fatigue is real.”

This job was a pain in the butt for Luke. But not for any of those reasons.