Page 19 of Starrily

Calliope stood there, looking about as awkward as when she was posing.

The dog nudged the stick against her body.

“Fine,” she said, wrestled it from him, and threw it with surprising force.

Soon, the dog came back, heading for Calliope again. He dropped the stick at her feet this time. Calliope bent, petted the dog, and threw the stick again.

“Huh. A cat and a dog person,” Simon said.

“How did you—”

“You have a picture of your cat in your office. At least I assume it’s your cat and you don’t frame random cat pictures from the internet.”

Her lips quirked, not quite in a smile, butsomething. “Sheismine. Theia. Butthisdog isn’t mine. We should get it back to its owner.”

“I’m sure they’re somewhere nearby. Don’t worry.”

“Who’d leave a dog unleashed like that?”

The dog came back, bouncing between them like a hyperactive child. Simon heard the snapping of a shutter and looked over his shoulder. Jessica was hiding behind a bush like a paparazzi. “Looking perfect,” she whispered. “Don’t mind me. Continue.”

“I think she’s in the wrong profession,” Calliope said. “She should’ve become a photographer.”

“I wanted to, but Dad said it was too artsy,” Jessica said. “Ignore me now. Go on.”

“Okay, buddy,” Simon said to the dog, still circling them. “Do you know any commands? Sit?”

The dog promptly sat, continuing to smile at Simon.

Would you look at that.“Lie down?”

The dog lay.

“Roll over?”

Simon wasn’t even surprised when he did.

“You’re either a dog whisperer, or this is your dog, and you’re playing a prank on me,” Calliope said.

“Careful, now. You don’t want to get too wild with your theories. Stay firmly grounded. Facts only.”

“Just because I’m a scientist, it doesn’t mean I can’t have a bit of fun with theories occasionally.”

“Simon!”

He automatically turned to the unknown voice. A young woman in a colorful outfit with ash blond hair stood further away on another path through the park. Well,stood—she waspresently being held back by Stan, who’d nearly lifted her off the ground, making her look like a hamster running inside a wheel.

“What the hell,” Simon murmured.

The dog started toward Stan and the woman.

“Please. I only want to talk to you,” she yelled, then lightly hit Stan on the forearm. “Let me go!”

“Ma’am, stay back,” Stan said. He turned around and deposited her on the ground, positioning himself between her and Simon.

“I just want to—”

“Mr. Montague doesn’t have the time right now.”