Then another.
Then his head landed on my chest with a sigh so deep and dramatic I almost applauded.
“You are not a lap dog.”
His tail wagged.
“I know no one has ever told you this, and I’m sorry to be the first, but you are not compact like a poodle.”
He pressed more of his weight on me.
I laughed despite myself, the sound bursting out before I could stop it.
It felt strange.
Good.
Warm.
I had spent the whole week pretending I was not waiting for my phone to light up, pretending I was not annoyed by a man respecting my boundaries, pretending I did not miss the very same possessive energy that had made me draw those boundaries in the first place.
And Fluffy had been my rock. He just wanted food, walks, scratches, and emotional support in the form of crushing my lungs.
Simple.
H
