Love is Always Write Anthology Bonus Volume

headed over to critique my grilling skills, but he never got that far. The group turned at his approach and his eyes fell on Alan. Mr. Morgan froze. For a moment, everyone did. Mallory scowled, but I tugged her back and stepped in front of Alan.
    "Mr. Morgan—"
    "What the sam-hell happened to the boy?" Mr. Morgan demanded, but that was as far as he got. Aunt Lilia was there.
    "They're in film, Josiah. Theater geeks have more fun. Alan, come spread your glittering presence on the porch, won't you? If I have to hear about Daisy's petunias one more time I may snap."
    Alan grinned and ushered Aunt Lilia across the yard. Mr. Morgan wandered off shaking his head. Mallory tossed her hair.
    "I've said it before and I'll say it again— Lukas, I love your aunt."
    "Me too," Tania said, biting into a cookie.
    "Me too," I said. Lilia was magic. Up on the porch, Alan tossed his hair as he chatted with Lilia, his grin a mile wide, and I wanted to be up there, magic by association, instead of grilling meat.
    Which I'd better give some attention, if I wanted it to be edible.
    When everyone was served, I sat on the steps near Lilia and Alan. The girls were on the other side of the steps, digging into their own plates. The dogs were scattered among the guests, each near whomever they thought most likely to feed them. Warhol was under Aunt Lilia's chair, naturally, but I was surprised to see Twiggy hovering near Alan. A rescued Greyhound, she was a nervy dog and normally didn't get near strangers.
    Maybe it was because she sensed a kindred spirit in Alan, who was as nervous as she was. He was telling Aunt Lilia a story about a high school play disaster, but his eyes often wandered, checking on where the dogs were. Twiggy's hovering especially seemed to bother him, so I called her to me. She sat beside me on the step, just as close to Alan as before but when she laid her head on my knee I thought Alan relaxed a little. Obviously when she was watching my cheeseburger she wasn't pondering eating him, right?
    Of course, then I had those great soulful eyes full of hope as they followed every trip the burger made from my plate to my mouth, watched the burger back to my plate in case anything dropped, stared sadly at my face while I took a drink…
    So much for the idea of getting anywhere that day. Alan might be more cooperative around Lilia, but if he was too nervous to focus on the project— well, but what if he got over his fear, at least of these dogs? Lilia didn't believe, as she put it, in the dog wagging the human. Her pack was a well-behaved lot. It shouldn't be that hard. Alan had already gone from climbing me to sitting within five feet of half the pack.
    I looked down at the graceful head on my knee and decided it would work. If Alan just looked into her eyes once, he'd never be afraid of Twiggy again. The others couldn't be much harder.
    After we ate, my awesome great aunt suggested we "young folk" go for a walk, as it wasn't right for us to be snoozing in the shade with the "oldsters." I bounced up and offered to show the group the burned-out church, and the graveyard. Despite Alan's annoyed glance, I took Twiggy and the Frisbee hidden under my shirt so the other dogs wouldn't see. As soon as we were in the field, I gave the quick heads-up whistle and threw the Frisbee as hard as I could.
    If you've never seen a Greyhound run, you've missed out. Greyhounds can hit forty-five miles per hour in six strides— the cheetah is the only land animal that can beat that. Twiggy didn't have to race to catch the Frisbee; she ran for the joy of it, then loped back till the disk came down where a good leap could snatch it.
    The full run of a Greyhound is impressive. The long-legged lope is… goofy-looking. Twiggy trotted back, proud of herself. Mallory whooped, and Twiggy shied away.
    "She's a new rescue," I explained. "You want to move slowly around her, and talk softly if you want to make friends." I stepped away from the others so Twiggy would come and give me the Frisbee, threw it again. We made our way across the field. Within three throws, Mallory was flinging the Frisbee for Twiggy, and the dog was bringing it to her. Which was great for Twiggy's self-confidence, but Alan was still stepping behind me or Mallory, whoever the dog wasn't coming to, whenever Twiggy approached. When we got to the graveyard I called a halt to the game.
    "Greyhounds are sprinters. They wear out fast."
    "Yeah, she looks worn out," Alan muttered as Twiggy