“What do you mean, like Carl? Jebidiah? Aloysius?”
“No!”
Ris laughed in outrage at the suggestions, but Ainsley only shrugged from where he sat at the work chair he’d pushed into the living room, insisting he needed to get used to being wherever the dog was during the day.
“I mean, you’re not really giving me much to go on, Nanaya. Whatkindof human name? Gary? Ramón? Horace? Hakim? Françoise?”
“No!” she exclaimed again, falling over sideways on the sofa, now protected by a multi-color protective liner, in anticipation of a shedding puppy. “Stop! Like . . . Richard. Or maybe Alan?”
Ainsley spun in his chair, squinting at her across the room. “I can’t tell if you’re being serious or not. I’m worried youarebeing serious, because that’s really going to impact our relationship, if you are.” He easily dodged the pillow she pitched acrossthe room in his direction. “Iwas thinking something regal. Something befitting a hound of higher education, obviously. Marduk, after the ancient Babylonian god. Or Wepwawet, an Egyptian dog-headed god who scouted pathways for the Pharaoh and his armies. Or like, Magrakanjeush from the ancient Bogdwellers.”
“Oh,Richardis putting our relationship in peril, but Magrakanjeush is fine and dandy? I’m not letting you get our dog bullied at puppy preschool just because you’re a nerd.”
“Youlikethat I’m a nerd!”
Ris allowed herself to be tackled on the sofa when he launched himself from his chair, throwing his body across the room to land on the sofa, caging her in his arms. She shrieked in laughter as he tickled her ribs, knowing exactly where to attack.
“Admit it, Nanaya! I want to hear you admit that you love your nerdy domestic partner and that Alan is a terrible name foranything, let alone a dog!”
“Fine!” she screamed. “I like that you’re a nerd! No . . . I love that you’re a nerd!”
He relented at last, holding her wrists and glaring down as she giggled.
“But! Alan is a perfectly fine name. It’s a lot better than Magrakanjeush, and you can tickle me until I’m dead. I said what I said.”
He blew out an exasperated breath, kissing the tip of her nose and shaking his head in disgust. “You know, you’re lucky you’re hot.”
“Ditto, garbage boy.” She met his mouth when he bent, meeting his lips with a grin. “A smoking hot nerd who’srealfucking lucky he has a smoking hot girlfriend to save him from himself. I’m sayingnoto Magrakanjeush.”
Ainsley pushed himself up with a sigh, settling into the other corner of the sofa. Ris turned to face him fully, crossing her legs into a lotus position as he grumbled under his breath.
“Does this mean we need to start another list?” he groaned, dropping his head back to the cushions dramatically, as if she were asking him to give birth to the dog himself. Ris had no doubt he’d be willing to try, if it were at all possible.
“I guess so. Because if that’s what you’re going to come up with if left to your own devices, you’re not making this decision alone.”
“Fine. But I get to vet any name you submit for historical worthiness.”
“Fine,” she allowed. “And I get to vet your submissions for the number of syllables and hidden consonants.”
“We have an accord.”
Ainsley stuck his hand out for her to shake, a gesture Ris met with a wide smile . . . until he pulled her back across the cushions, shrieking as he tickled her once more. It was better than his melancholy and although she wasn’t willing to admit it out loud to him, she would tolerate any name he chose, if they could keep things this light and easy forever.
* * *
Fitz came to them by accident, one that was entirely her fault.
“What should we do today?”
His voice was a vibration beneath her cheek, pressed as she was to the solid plane of his chest. She yawned in response.
“Do we have todoanything? Shouldn’t we be getting used to being home more? Being responsible dog owners?”
Ainsley groaned. Ris yawned again, wriggling her cheek against him as he raked his fingers through her hair. His own head was still bare. He still hadn’t decided on how he was planning on growing it out, refused to make a commitment until he could see the hair itself, which was never going to happen,because the second his stubble grew beyond being stubble, he shaved it off again.
She had work to do, technically. She had come up with a list of close to forty names. It was simultaneously more than she’d expected and too few to be actionable. Elves, nymphs, sylvans, folks from ballet, from work, from book club and the green market, women she knew from her old condo. She had drafted a preliminary email, keeping it light and superficial, the initial soft launch of her idea, to gauge interest. Their responses, so far, were encouraging.
Sounds interesting!
