Chapter Text
Jon Snow had spent six months learning the exact sound of Nora’s laugh from three desks away and still had not managed to say anything more impressive to her than, “Morning.”
It was pathetic, really. He knew it was pathetic. He was a grown man with a steady job, a gym membership he actually used, and a habit of fixing other people’s problems before anyone asked. He could handle budget meetings, freezing rain, busted office printers, and his youngest brother calling him at midnight because he had “a quick question” that was never quick.
But Nora from client services smiled at him in the break room and Jon forgot every word he had ever learned.
She was warm without trying to be, the sort of person who remembered that Sam took tea instead of coffee and that Gilly liked the chair by the window because it did not wobble. She wore cardigans with the sleeves pushed up, kept a stack of colour-coded folders on her desk, and made dry little comments under her breath in meetings that had made Jon nearly choke on his water twice.
He had tried to talk to her properly. Several times. Once, he had even walked toward her desk with the firm intention of asking if she wanted to get lunch. Then she had looked up, smiled, and said, “Hi, Jon,” and he had panicked so badly he asked if she had seen the stapler.
The stapler, unfortunately, had been sitting beside his own keyboard.
Robb had laughed for ten minutes when Jon told him. “You need help,” Robb had said, far too delighted. “Professional help.”
Jon had ignored him, which was easier than admitting Robb might be right.
Two weeks later, Jon found himself standing in a fluorescent-lit community centre gymnasium, holding a leash attached to a white ball of fluff approximately the size of one of his boots.
“Sit,” Jon said.
Ghost blinked at him with solemn dark eyes, then sneezed.
“Good effort,” Jon muttered.
Ghost was twelve weeks old, allegedly a husky mix, though at the moment he looked more like a dignified dust mop with paws. Jon had named him before realizing how ridiculous it sounded to introduce something that fit inside a laundry basket as Ghost. He stood by the decision. Ghost had presence.
The puppy class was meant to help with basic obedience, confidence, and socialization. Jon had signed up because Ghost had recently discovered the joy of stealing socks and hiding them beneath the sofa.
It had not occurred to Jon that puppy class might involve fate.
The gym door banged open ten minutes after class began.
Every head turned.
Nora stumbled in backward, red-faced and breathless, both hands wrapped around the leash of the largest dog Jon had ever seen.
“Gregor, no. Gregor. Gregor, please—” Gregor did not please. He surged forward with the unstoppable enthusiasm of a small, furry avalanche. Nora slid after him across the polished floor, boots squeaking, cardigan slipping off one shoulder, apology already forming on her face before the disaster had even chosen a victim.
The victim was Jon.
Gregor launched himself at him with such joy that Jon barely had time to scoop Ghost against his chest before two massive paws landed on his shoulders. The dog’s head was roughly level with Jon’s chin. His tongue lolled out. His tail thumped like a drumbeat against the air.
Then Gregor drooled down the front of Jon’s jacket.
For one stunned second, Jon stood there holding his tiny puppy like a football while an enormous dog breathed happily into his face.
“Oh my god.” Nora sounded as if she wanted the floor to open beneath her. “Gregor, get down. Gregor. I swear to every saint currently listening, if you do not get off him—”
Gregor wagged harder.
Jon stared at Nora over the dog’s enormous head. She stared back, horrified and familiar and close enough that he could see a loose piece of hair stuck to her cheek.
For months, he had wondered what he would say if he ever got more than three seconds alone with her. Apparently, the answer was nothing at all.
Ghost, pressed against Jon’s chest, yawned.
“I am so sorry,” Nora said, trying to tug Gregor backward with absolutely no success. “He’s friendly. Too friendly. Criminally friendly. Gregor, down.”
Jon shifted Ghost into one arm and caught Gregor’s collar with his free hand. “It’s all right.”
It was not, strictly speaking, all right. There was drool soaking through his jacket, one of Gregor’s paws was crushing his shoe, and the entire puppy class was watching with open, barely concealed delight. But Nora was talking to him.
So, in Jon’s opinion, things were improving.
“Gregor,” Jon said, because the dog seemed to be waiting for something from him. “Sit.”
Gregor sat.
The silence that followed was religious.
Nora’s mouth fell open. “You have got to be kidding me.”
Gregor looked up at Jon adoringly, tongue lolling, as if he had been a model citizen all his life and Nora was the unreasonable one.
Jon glanced at her. “He knows sit.”
“He knows sit when other people say it,” Nora said, faintly betrayed. “When I say it, he hears a different language.”
Jon laughed before he could stop himself.
Nora’s expression changed, just slightly. Not enough that anyone else in the room would have noticed, probably. But Jon noticed things about Nora. Her embarrassment softened into surprise, then into something like pleasure.
“Hi,” she said, as if only just realizing who he was beneath the drool and the dog hair. “Jon, right? From work.”
“Right,” he said. Then, because he had apparently been gifted a second chance by an enormous badly behaved animal, he added, “Nora.”
Her smile flickered brighter. “You know my name.”
Jon’s ears went hot. “We’ve worked together for six months.”
“Technically,” Nora said, “we’ve worked near each other for six months. I didn’t want to assume.”
He should have said something charming then. Robb would have. Robb would have grinned and made her laugh and somehow ended up holding both leashes while arranging a date for Friday.
Jon looked down at Gregor, who was sitting on his foot, then back at Nora. “Nice dog,” he said.
Nora stared at him for half a second, then burst out laughing.
The laugh did something unfortunate to Jon’s chest. It was not the small, polite laugh she used in meetings when someone made a joke that barely deserved it. This one was surprised out of her, bright and helpless, one hand pressed to her mouth as Gregor continued to sit on Jon’s foot with obvious satisfaction.
Jon had no idea what to do with that, so he looked down at Gregor again. “He seems… committed.”
“To ruining my life?” Nora asked. “Yes. Deeply.”
“To you,” Jon said before he could think better of it.
Nora’s smile softened. For a second, the gymnasium noise seemed to thin around them: puppies yipping, leashes jingling, the instructor clapping her hands for attention. Gregor’s tail thumped once against Jon’s shin.
“He is,” Nora said quietly. “He’s just… a lot.” She said it like she had said it before. Like she had apologized for him at shelters and sidewalks and vet offices. Like she expected Jon to agree.
Jon scratched Gregor behind one enormous ear. The dog leaned into his hand so hard Jon had to brace his stance. “Strong,” Jon said. “Not bad.”
Nora looked at him then, really looked, and Jon suddenly became aware of the drool drying on his jacket and Ghost trying to nibble the zipper of his hoodie.
“That’s what I keep telling people,” she said.
Before Jon could answer, the instructor arrived with the carefully cheerful expression of someone who had seen every possible species of chaos and been paid forty dollars a session to call it progress.
“All right,” she said, glancing from Gregor to Ghost to Jon’s jacket. “Excellent enthusiasm. Let’s redirect that into structure.”
Nora made a strangled sound. “Is that what we’re calling it?”
The instructor smiled. “In this room, yes.” She crouched slightly, offering Gregor a treat before looking at Nora. “He’s powerful, and he’s excited. That means we work on focus before control. Sometimes it helps to start with another handler, just to separate the dog from the habit they’ve built with their person.”
Jon felt Nora glance at him. He looked back.
“We can switch,” he said.
Nora blinked. “You don’t have to do that.”
“I know.” Jon hesitated, then held Ghost out a little. The puppy immediately stretched both front paws toward Nora as if she were the answer to all things. “He likes you.”
“He has known me for thirty seconds.”
“He’s decisive.”
That earned him another smile, smaller this time but warmer. Nora took Ghost carefully, gathering his little leash in one hand while the puppy settled against her chest with a sigh so dramatic the instructor laughed.
“Traitor,” Jon told him.
Ghost licked Nora’s chin. “He’s very cute,” Nora said, because apparently she did not mind betrayal when it came in the form of twelve pounds of fluff.
Jon took Gregor’s leash. The leather felt warm from Nora’s hands. That was a stupid thing to notice, so naturally his mind seized on it with humiliating focus.
Gregor rose at once, pressed his massive shoulder against Jon’s thigh, and looked up with absolute devotion.
“Show-off,” Nora muttered.
The next ten minutes proved that Gregor was, in fact, capable of behaving like a civilized creature if the person holding his leash had shoulders broad enough to withstand his affection and a voice low enough to make him reconsider his life choices.
He sat. He stayed. He even managed heel for four full steps before becoming overwhelmed by the existence of a poodle named Daisy and attempting to introduce himself with his entire body.
Jon caught him before disaster struck. “Good boy,” Jon said, steadying him. Gregor’s tail thudded against Jon’s leg hard enough to bruise.
Across the room, Ghost sat perfectly at Nora’s feet, gazing up at her like she personally controlled sunrise.
“This is insulting,” Jon said.
Nora looked down at Ghost, then at Jon, eyes bright with laughter. “Maybe he just responds well to structure.”
“He sleeps inside my laundry basket.”
“Maybe he responds well to cardigans, then.”
Jon looked at her cardigan. It was soft grey, pushed up at the sleeves, with a faint smear of dog treat dust near the pocket. He had seen her wear it at work before. He had thought about telling her it suited her.
He still did not. But when the instructor called for a water break, Nora walked toward him with Ghost trotting at her heels and Gregor immediately leaning into Jon like a collapsing wall.
“Sorry,” Nora said, though this time the apology sounded more like habit than panic. “He’s decided you belong to him now.”
Jon looked down at Gregor, who had wedged his enormous head beneath Jon’s hand and was waiting there with shameless confidence. “There are worse fates.”
Nora’s mouth tilted. “You say that now. Wait until he tries to sit in your lap.”
“He doesn’t fit.”
“He has never accepted that limitation.”
Jon huffed a laugh and accepted the water bottle she offered him. Their fingers brushed for less than a second. It was nothing. It was also, somehow, the only thing he could think about.
Ghost sat between Nora’s shoes, staring up at her with a level of devotion that felt frankly insulting after Jon had spent three weeks bribing him with chicken to come when called.
“So,” Nora said, nodding toward Ghost. “Tiny puppy. Giant name.”
Jon glanced down. “He’ll grow into it.”
“Will he?”
Ghost sneezed directly onto her boot.
Nora looked at him. Jon looked at Ghost.
“Eventually,” Jon said.
Her laugh came easier this time, and Jon found himself relaxing with it. Not completely. He still felt as if he were standing too close to something warm and dangerous. But the silence between them did not feel empty the way it usually did when he tried to speak to her at work. It felt like room.
“What about him?” Jon asked, nodding to Gregor. “Did he come with the name?”
“Unfortunately.” Nora made a face. “I considered changing it, but he already answered to it. Well. Sometimes. Selectively. When the mood is right.”
Gregor heard his name and thumped his tail against Jon’s calf.
“I got him from a rescue on the edge of town,” Nora said. She twisted the cap of her water bottle between her fingers, not looking at Jon for a moment. “They told me he was sweet, but too big. Too strong. Too much for most homes.”
Jon stayed quiet.
He was good at quiet. Usually, people mistook it for disinterest. Sometimes, it was. More often, it was just the only way he knew to make space for someone else.
“He looked miserable,” Nora said, her voice softer. “Like he’d been prepared for everyone to say no before they even met him. And then he put his head in my lap and drooled on my jeans.”
Jon glanced down at the dog currently using him as a support beam. “Sounds like him.”
“I know it was stupid,” Nora said quickly. “I know he’s huge, and I know he needs work, and I know I probably should have picked the old beagle who slept through the entire appointment. But Gregor just looked so sad, and he wasn’t mean. He was just scared and lonely and trying very hard to be loved in the loudest possible way.”
Jon felt the words land somewhere under his ribs. He did not know Gregor well enough to say much. He did not know Nora well enough to say everything he suddenly wanted to say. So he settled for the truth.
“Doesn’t sound stupid.”
Nora looked over at him.
Jon scratched Gregor’s ear again, focusing on that instead of the expression on her face. “Sounds like you saw him when no one else did.”
For a moment, Nora said nothing. Behind them, a terrier barked twice and someone laughed. The instructor called out that they had two minutes left. Ghost leaned against Nora’s ankle. Gregor leaned against Jon.
“You’re very good at saying unexpectedly kind things,” Nora said at last.
Jon’s mouth went dry. “Not usually.”
“No?”
He gave a small shrug. “Usually I ask about staplers.”
Nora stared at him for one beat, then another. Then recognition dawned, and she laughed so hard Ghost startled and barked once at her shoe. “That was you trying to talk to me?” she asked.
Jon considered denying it, but Gregor chose that moment to lick his hand with a level of solemn encouragement that felt binding. “It went poorly,” Jon said.
Nora’s smile gentled in a way that made him want to look away and keep looking forever. “I just thought you were being polite.”
“I was trying to be brave.”
The words were out before he could stop them.
Nora’s cheeks went pink.
Jon’s did too.
Fortunately, before either of them had to decide what to do with that, the instructor clapped her hands.
“All right, everyone,” she called. “Let’s finish with recall and loose-leash walking. Same partners if that’s working for you.”
Nora looked at Jon. Jon looked at Nora. Gregor looked at the treat pouch clipped to Jon’s belt with intense, hopeful focus.
“Same partners?” Nora asked.
Jon’s hand tightened around Gregor’s leash. “If you want.”
“I do,” she said quickly, then seemed to hear herself and added, “For training purposes.”
“Right,” Jon said. “Training.”
Ghost chose that moment to sit directly on Nora’s shoe, as if contributing his professional opinion.
The rest of class went better than Jon expected, which meant Gregor only attempted to drag him toward Daisy the poodle once, a golden retriever twice, and an abandoned tennis ball with sincere determination.
Still, he listened. Mostly. He watched Jon with bright, trusting eyes and leaned into every quiet command as if the world made more sense when someone steady held the leash.
Across from them, Nora had somehow convinced Ghost to come when called three times in a row. Each time, the tiny puppy launched himself toward her with all the grace of a windblown tissue and collapsed happily at her feet.
“He never does that for me,” Jon said.
“Maybe he knows I need an easy win.” Nora crouched to scratch Ghost under the chin. “Don’t you, handsome?”
Ghost melted.
Jon could sympathize.
By the time the instructor dismissed them, Gregor had earned three treats, two compliments, and one warning for attempting to drink from the mop bucket. Ghost had fallen asleep on Nora’s foot during the closing announcements.
“He trusts you,” Nora said, passing Ghost’s leash back with a softness in her voice that made Jon look down at the puppy instead of at her. “Both of them do, actually.”
Jon took the leash. “Ghost has no standards.”
“And Gregor?”
Jon glanced at the giant dog, who was currently wearing an expression of noble suffering because Nora had denied him access to a child’s discarded granola bar.
“Gregor has opinions,” he said.
Nora laughed and clipped Gregor’s leash back onto his harness. The class began to break apart around them, people gathering treat bags and water bottles, dogs tangling themselves in leashes with impressive commitment.
Jon knew this was the part where a braver man would say something simple. Something normal. Something like, We should practice together sometime. His mouth did not move.
Nora adjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder. “Well. I’ll see you at work, then?”
There it was. The escape hatch. He could nod, say yes, let the moment pass, and spend the next six months asking her about office supplies. Gregor chose that moment to sit on Jon’s foot again. Jon looked down at him. Gregor looked up, drooling gently, as if to say, Coward.
“We could practice,” Jon said.
Nora paused. “Practice?”
“With the dogs,” he clarified quickly. Too quickly. “There’s a park near the office. Big field. Not too crowded after work. If you wanted. Gregor might do better with space, and Ghost could use the practice.”
He stopped before he could keep talking himself directly into a hole.
Nora’s fingers stilled on the strap of her bag. For a second, she looked almost wary, as if she had to check the shape of the offer before she let herself want it.
“Would your girlfriend mind?” she asked.
Jon blinked. “My what?”
Colour rose in Nora’s face so quickly he almost felt guilty for noticing. “Sorry. I just assumed. You know. You’re…”
She gestured vaguely at all of him, then seemed to regret the existence of her hands.
Jon’s face went even hotter than it had during the water break. “I’m what?”
“Reserved,” Nora said, seizing on the safest word available. “And attractive. I mean—reserved in an attractive way. No. That’s worse.”
Ghost chose that moment to bark once, sharp and tiny, as if announcing that he approved of the chaos.
Nora closed her eyes. “Pretend I didn’t say any of that.”
Jon surprised himself by smiling. Not one of the careful, half-hidden smiles he usually gave people, but a real one. “Too late.”
Gregor wagged, as if he agreed.
“I don’t have a girlfriend,” Jon said.
Nora opened one eye. Then the other. “Oh.” It was a very small word. It still managed to do a great deal of damage to Jon’s ability to think.
“No boyfriend either?” he asked, because apparently bravery, once started, was difficult to stop.
Nora’s smile came back slowly. “No boyfriend.”
Jon nodded once, as if this were a normal exchange and not the most important information he had received all week.
“Then maybe,” Nora said, “the park would be good. For training purposes.”
“Right,” Jon said. “Training.”
Neither of them looked at the dogs.
Which was unfortunate, because Gregor and Ghost were watching them with matching expressions of quiet interest.