It takes twenty minutes, half a bag of freeze-dried chicken treats, and three damp hand towels to restore order to the penthouse.
We sit in a line on the living room rug, our face masks thoroughly rinsed away, revealing freshly glowing, soft skin. Xena sits safely tucked between my thighs, chewing contentedly on a rubber bone, though her watchful dark eyes still dart suspiciously toward Willow every time she moves her hands.
"Traumatized by botanical skincare," Jade sighs, adjusting her silk top as she leans her back against the sofa. "Locke is never going to leave the three of us alone with this dog again."
"Her aura is settling," Willow notes softly, sitting cross-legged across from us, sipping her cooled chamomile tea. "She realized our inner spirits were unchanged, despite the physi
