“Could you?” Millie asked.
“I could. The question was whether she’d still like it when it healed.”
“I’d get Rabbit,” Millie declared.
Nixx opened the refrigerator. “Rabbit’s already got better security than half the clubhouse.”
The kitchen smelled like garlic from the sauce I’d started earlier. JJ checked the pot while Nixx set the table, and Millie fetched the napkins she insisted belonged at everyone’s assigned seat. The place cards she’d made were still tucked behind the salt shaker: Mommy, Daddy Nixxy, Daddy Benny, and Millie Nixxon, the last one written with a particularly elaborate X.
She’d been using that name every chance she got since the adoption. She’d asked to see the certified decree twice, then announced she wanted to frame a copy next to one of her drawings. Nixx had ta
