I laughed. “No. Not hardly. Hopefully no nuggets for us to find when we’re cleaning tomorrow.”
“I thought we’d clean tonight.”
“Oh.” I attempted to summon energy and enthusiasm.
He pulled me close and kissed my cheek. “You take care of our menagerie, and I’ll do as much as I can. Less to tackle in the morning.”
I yawned. “I’m off again tomorrow.”
“That’s good. Thank Dillon for me.”
“He sent the fruit and veggie platters.”
“Your boss is a good man.”
“The best.” I leaned in. “Although not as good as you.”
He grinned. “Be quick. I have plans for you.”
My cock stirred—even as I yawned again. “Empathetic yawner. I blame Flora for this.”
“Well, I have to say Sleepy has truly lived up to her name.”
“I know, right? That dog barely roused for a treat.”
“Malcolm says she’s perfectly healthy—just happier asleep all the time.”
“What did you think about Flora being pregnant again?”
He met my gaze. “That it’s something we might consider talking about.”
I held up my hand. “I’m not the one who’s getting pregnant. That’s a step too far.”
He burst out laughing. “Yes, even if men could get pregnant, I wouldn’t ask you to do that.”
“But you would?” I narrowed my gaze.
“Never say never. I know I can’t—but I’d still like us to consider kids. But hey, we’re twenty-six. We have time to decideif that’s the right option for us. Now, I’m having some human desserts while I clean up.”
“You must be starving. Let me make—”
He put his index finger to my lips. “Finger food is fine. You take care of the pooches and kitties and I’ll clean, then I’ll meet you in the bedroom in half an hour.” Then he pressed a kiss to my lips and pivoted to start collecting the empty glasses and plates.
With more energy than I thought I possessed, I headed upstairs.
Running the dogs out took little time. They’d all done everything earlier and none was interested in playing in the snow.
Well, Stormy would have—likely—but she probably sensed my desire to get inside and naked as soon as possible.
I provided them with bones Noah had brought in from his SUV. They all grinned and headed toward their beds. We’d lined the three beds up against the wall, figuring each would want their space.
Nope.
Stormy slept in the middle—often with Sable curled against her on one side and River on the other.
Jasmine and Snowy attacked their food with gusto as I changed the litter. They had free rein in the house, but often preferred their perches in the pet room. Sometimes Sable and River had a little too much enthusiasm and energy for them, what with them being middle-aged cats. Healthy, Malcolm assured me. But definitely middle age.
“Okay, so everyone’s going to behave tonight, right?” I eyed each creature in what we lovingly termed our menagerie—all five rescues.
