The dog made a low sound in his chest.
Something weirdly pleased and miserable at the same time.
I rubbed my thumb between his eyes.
“See? You understand. You’re a romantic.”
MrBigshot sneezed.
“Shut up you grump! We’re strategizing here. ”
I looked back at Fluffy.
“I told him to give me space. Which was reasonable, because he came on very strong. Very. Strong. Like, if possessiveness had legs and unresolved childhood trauma, it would be him.”
Fluffy’s ears flattened.
I pointed at him. “Don’t make that face. I like him. That is the problem.”
There.
I had said it.
Out loud.
To a dog.
Which was either healing or a sign that I needed to book therapy immediately.
“I like him,” I repeated, quieter.
Fluffy’s breathing changed and his head tilted to the side.
Then the other side.
