Frank's pottery lessons and his visit to his mother had to be postponed, so that he and Emily could film all the lessons. They had done that in the shelter. With Frank bringing his weights to the shelter and a mat for Emily to learn.

Emily had brought a whiteboard, and she had drawn all the movements on it, after completing them successfully. With stick figures, but it was quite obvious how one lifts from them.

The nutrition lessons were just two, seeing that they had to go to Frank's house to film them.

First, they had gone shopping for the usual things Frank used. Bananas for smoothies, vegetables and greens for salads, and plenty of meat. Because, as Frank had learned early on, if you wanted to be a weightlifter, you had to inhale the calories and be reassured that they were turning into muscle.

Then, they had propped up Emily's camera on a stand and Frank had cooked them a balanced dinner. Talking at the camera all the while. That had happened for two days straight.

But Emily had told him that he couldn't delay his visit to his mother any longer. So, now they were in his kitchen again, armored in aprons and with two bowls of muffin batter between them.

Frank found that the hardest part had been to make sure that the egg whites had the consistency of snow. After that, it had just been a matter of adding things and whisking them in.

As they worked, Frank stole glances at Emily. Her long hair was hidden in a headscarf, and she had a concentrated look on her face. It was an adorable sight and Frank wanted to capture it, somehow.

"Do I have something on my face?" Emily was looking at him, and Frank blinked. He was caught. Now, to divert her attention.

"No, it is just that, you look like you are on the verge of a new invention, or something," Emily blushed at that and her eyes found the batter again.

"This is my personal recipe. You remember how we put yogurt, and not milk, right?" Frank tilted his head. What was the difference between a yogurt muffin and a milk muffin? Wasn't yogurt still milk, sort of?

"So?" Emily looked at him again.

"Well, I came up with the recipe when I was about ten and made them just once. To tell you the truth, these are the only muffins I can make," Frank chuckled at that.

"So, you are not a baking wunderkind?" Emily poked her tongue at him and went back to whisking. "Why did you stop baking?"

"My grandparents died in a car crash, the same day I baked the muffins. They had a basket of them in the back. I thought that my baked goods were cursed and connected them to their deaths," Frank sighed. That was a silly thing to do. But he supposed that, trauma made people do stupid things.

"Tell me about them," Frank raised his whisk and wondered for how much longer he needed to keep on whisking. Surely, his batter was done by now?

"They were fun-loving. Full of life and constantly traveling. The day they left my parent's house for the last time, they were heading to see the Brazilian rainforest," to Frank, those people sounded like fun. Life often cut those types out of itself before their time.

"Did you ever visit it?" Frank asked, and Emily stopped whisking.

"I meant to, back when I finish College. But then I got my position in the shelter and didn't even have a free weekend, let alone time to go to a different continent," Frank nodded. Sure, their work was rewarding their souls with the happiness of the animals, but it was slave labor for just two people to look after so many animals.

"Do you think that, if we ask, we might get new colleagues? To lessen the load?" Emily became thoughtful. She didn't dare ask for other people to join the team, even when she had worked alone. But now, with the Kickstarter bringing in more money, there could be enough for at least two more people.

"I'll send the chairman a letter, but we won't get any response for at least a week," Xavier McConnel liked to make the people who worked for him wait. That was a bitter lesson that Emily had learned her first year in the shelter.

"Does he care about the shelter?" Frank's question took Emily out of the loop. She had wondered the same many times. The shelter was a kill one, with a month of a lease for the older animals and two months for the babies. But the funding had never come late, despite the constant budged cuts.

"I suppose that, if he did not, I would still be working alone," Emily tried to defend her boss, but her reasoning sounded hollow to her ears.

"Do you think he might sell us the shelter?" Emily's eyes snapped to Frank's. Everyone knew that the money a shelter netted usually went back into the care of the animals. That is why everyone, the chairman included, got their paychecks out of donations.

"You have to have had previous experience in running a shelter to become a director of one. This is not a purchase of a farm," Emily could see the gears in Frank's brain turning, and she shook her head. "No."

"Why not? We made more money for the shelter in two days than the month's budged. Most of those funds will line the chairman's pockets. Be real now, Emily," Emily sighed.

"McConnel will ask an arm and a leg for it. And, the shelter will have to be under my name, since you have been working in it only for the past month," it would be a tough fight, Emily knew, but she was certain that Mcconner's greed would win out, in the end.

"Then it is decided then. We do our best, and we change the shelter to a no-kill one when we win," Frank extended his hand and Emily grabbed it, and they shook on it. Preparing for the biggest battle of their lives.