She stares at Crunch like he might bite her hand off. “He’s cuter than I imagined,” she says after a second of hesitation.
I place a hand over his ears. “Don’t let him hear you say that. He’s the handsomest little guy on the block. Wait until he shows you his tricks.”
She blinks up at me. “He knows how to do tricks?”
“Of course, he’s not dumb. He also thinks he’s a dog, don’t you, bud?” I scruff his head, and he closes his eyes, his little nose twitching. I turn him to face her. “Want a cuddle?”
Willow shakes her head. “Uh, I’m good.”
“He won’t bite.”
“Aren’t rabbits meant to be all weird when you try to pick them up? I think I read that somewhere.”
“Not him,” I say, proudly. “He loves cuddles with Daddy. I’m sure you’ll learn to love him, too. He likes to snuggle in the mornings.”
She gapes at me. “You let him sleep with you?”
“Of course. I’m not a caveman. He likes watchin’ TV in bed. His favorites are Law and Order SUV and Murder She Wrote,the original — he has this thing about Angela Landsbury.” I roll my eyes.
“I’ve heard it all now,” she says, a little sarcasm in her tone. Still, she reaches out to brush over his ears with her knuckles. “Where did you find him again?”
What Willow doesn’t know is that Crunch is special. He’s not like other rabbits. Everything about him is perfect. “He was meant to go to a meat factory, poor little guy. His feet had never even touched grass. Can you believe that? We suspect he was used for breedin’.”
“That’s needlessly cruel.”
“Tell me about it. He’s not even afraid of me. Swear to god if I find whoever did that to him, and his buddies, I’ll fuckin’ kill them.”
“He is kinda sweet.” She tickles his head, and he wiggles his nose. Of course, my girl is a natural.
“I’ve told him all about you,” I say. “So he probably feels like he knows you already.”
“You’re insane.”
“I’m insane when it comes to you and Mr. Crunch.”
“I think it’s cute you rescued him.”
“Cute?” I scoff. “I was goin’ for manly, but I’ll take cute if that’s all you’re offerin’.”
“You think he knows who I am because you talked about me?” Her tone indicates that yes, she does think I’m clinically mad.
“No. I put one of your shirts in his cage when I knew we were gettin’ back together.”
Her eyes flick to mine, shocked. “That’s a little creepy.”
“I didn’t steal it, if that’s what you’re thinkin’. It was an old one.”
“How old?”
I roll my eyes upward as if I’m thinking. “Okay, the last time we spent the night together — not includin’ the rendezvous in your office, that doesn’t count because we didn’t do any sleepin’ — I may have repurposed one of your t-shirts. Technically, it was mine to begin with, so it’s not really stealin’.”
“Repurposing? Wait, not my Chicago Bears shirt? I’ve been looking for that everywhere.”
“So now you know.”
“That Crunch was using it as a pillow the last time we, well… however long.”
“Two years, one month, six days, fifteen hours and?—”
