She thought she was ambivalent about having his company but then she hears his whistle from inside and is suddenly pleased. It's only the first day. She's just a little giddy from isolation. And food.

Her grin breaks free as she steps back out. The dog is a pile of limbs in Frank's lap, the mud from Rocky's feet smeared onto his jeans. The next time she feels bad about walking all over him, she'll have to bring up that mental snapshot. Either as a reminder that there's always more to get away with, or that he thrives on being used when it's useful. Jess tamps down her smile on her way to the whiskey bottle.

"Who's looking after the other fleabags?" she asks as she fills the glass halfway.