Page 23 of Shameless

“Let’s hope that little guy hasn’t caused any havoc in there.” I say, squeezing Lula’s hand as I guide her toward the kitchen.

Nothing could have prepared me for the scene that greets us when we entered the huge kitchen that would be the envy of any Michelin starred restaurant.

A high chair has been placed next to one of the long tables where the team of chefs employed by Mr. Andrews preps the delicious dishes for the guests staying on the island.

A dark red, plush cushion is placed on the chair, and sitting right in the middle of it is Napoleon.

My tiny dog is definitely honoring his namesake right now as the head chef offers him small morsels of a dark meat that looks suspiciously like quail.

Napoleon eats it all up, barking and wagging his tail in appreciation, ready for the next bite.

“You like this, huh?” the chef sounds delighted. “It was roasted on an open fire right outside, seasoned with a secret butter only I know how to make. Do you want another piece?”

Woof.

Un-fucking real.

If I wasn’t totally positive that this is my dog, I’d wonder what they’ve done with the scrappy little creature who has an innate distrust of strangers.

I clear my throat as the chef feeds him another small bite of quail. “Napoleon.”

At the sound of my voice, Napoleon perks up, his big ears turning toward the kitchen door.

Despite the tension of a few moments ago, the way my dog paws at the edge of the cushion he’s sitting on puts a smile on my face.

Lula smiles too and that makes my heart swell with love for my little Naps. He might be diffident at first when he meets new people, but once he accepts you, Napoleon will love you forever.

“Are you Napoleon’s owner?” the chef asks.

I think I’ve seen this guy on TV, competing and winning a famous cooking competition.

“Yeah, he’s my dog. We’re about to head back to the mainland, thank you for looking after him and I’m sorry if he’s been difficult to deal with.” I add, despite the fact that after a discreet check, I can see no missing fingers on the chef.

“Difficult?” the chef shakes his head. “Absolutely not. I must admit that when the housekeeper dropped him off here this morning before the quail hunt, Napoleon looked a little nervous. But I’m not surprised. I was given a bag of beef jerky to keep him happy.”

“Yeah, I don’t know much about the beef jerky. Napoleon is a rescue and he doesn’t trust people very easily. Apparently though, my friends think he’s partial to teriyaki beef jerky and that makes him more friendly and less likely to snap.”

The chef is horrified. “He did stop growling after my sous-chef offered him some of the beef jerky from the bag the housekeeper brought. But I don’t blame little Napoleon for feeling a little grumpy, that cheap, mass produced stuff is terrible. Full of additives and it tastes like something between plastic and old leather. I didn’t have any of my home made wagyu beef jerky that won a James Beard award, but I made some filet mignon for his breakfast and I just found out he loves quail. Don’t you, Napoleon?”

I can’t believe my eyes when Napoleon jumps into the chef’s arms, licking his face the same way he only ever does with me.

“Who knew that the way to your little heart was through your stomach?” I snort when Naps nestles into the chef’s arms, furiously hitting the guys forearm with his wagging tail.

A part of me is happy that Napoleon was friendly to someone that wasn’t me, my immediate family, or Lula. Another part is worried that if this is the only way to get him to mellow down, Naps is going to get chubby.

Case in point, as the chef passes Napoleon to me, he also offers me a small Tupperware container. “I’m going to miss the little guy,” he smiles. “He has a lot of character. Those are some organic carrot sticks and some more filet mignon for the road. Just in case we get hungry, right Napoleon?”

Belch.

Napoleon’s loud burp causes Lula to giggle and that helps offset the embarrassment at my dog’s behavior. I haven’t seen Lula smile since we left Star Cove yesterday morning.

Napoleon’s presence seems to help Lula’s mood. I’m planning to talk to Stefan and possibly Jules—if the asshole can listen without arguing with me for a couple of minutes—about staying as close to Lula as possible while her mother and Evan are in Star Cove.

Only an idiot would try something stupid while the cops are practically watching all of us, but with that creep you never know. He’s already gotten away with assaulting Lula once, so I wouldn’t put it past him to try his luck if he felt like he could get away with it again.

Leaving Napoleon with Lula could also be a good idea. Naps has a great instinct for danger and aggressive body language. I have no doubt that if Evan tried to get close to Lula without her consent, he would lose all of his fingers.

7.Safe Haven

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