Chloe looked up.
“Why are they looking at us?” she whispered.
I leaned back in my chair slowly, stretching the stiffness out of my shoulders.
“Because people see what they expect to see,” I said quietly.
Two officers approached our table carefully.
Behind them came an animal control officer holding a metal catch pole like he was preparing to handle something far more dangerous than a dog licking whipped cream off a paper lid.
“Sir,” the lead officer said cautiously, “we’ve received a report about a potentially aggressive animal in close proximity to a child.”
Atlas hadn’t moved.
His head rested near Chloe’s knee, his breathing slow and calm.
But the moment the officers stepped closer, his body shifted subtly.
Not threatening.
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