Page 16 of Spiced!

Adrian exhaled as though he’d been holding his breath since a car ride twenty minutes earlier. “Okay, good. He’s okay then?”

“He’s perfect,” I said. “Healthy weight, clear eyes, good energy.”

Mofongo was currently attempting to fall off the edge of the table with cheerful purposefulness. I moved him back to the center.

“You’ll want to get him fully vaccinated. He’ll also need a round of deworming and flea prevention. I’d recommend a wellness visit every three weeks for the first few months.”

“Every three weeks?” Adrian repeated.

“It goes fast,” I said. “He’ll be six months old before you know it.”

“Six months.” He watched Mofongo attempt the table edge again. “He’s going to be bigger.”

I smiled and nodded. “Oh, yes.”

“How much bigger?”

“Beagle mixes typically get to about twenty-five or thirty pounds. He won’t be a massive beast, but he’ll be a lot bigger than what you see now.”

Adrian looked at Mofongo.

Mofongo looked at him.

“Okay,” he said. “Okay. That’s fine. I can do that.”

“He’s going to be great,” I said.

Adrian looked at me.

“First dogs are terrifying,” I said. “But only for the first week—then they’re just your dog.”

Something in Adrian’s expression shifted, a small settling of someone receiving exactly the confirmation they needed. “Yeah?”

“I have a ferret,” I said. “In that first week, I took his temperature four times because I was convinced something was wrong.”

“Was something wrong?”

“He was fine. I was the problem.” Without thinking, I reached over and put my hand on Adrian’s arm. “Owners usually are. Pets adapt and learn, but owners are stubborn.”

Adrian grinned, then his eyes drifted down to where my hand was still on his warm, smooth skin.

I jerked back.

His smile widened.

Mofongo had given up on the table edge and was now sitting in the center of the metal slab with all the dignity a puppy could muster, looking between us with the attentive expression of a dog following a tennis match.

“He’s listening,” Adrian said.

“He’s eight weeks old,” I said.

“He’s smart,” Adrian said, with complete certainty. “You can tell already.”

Mofongo sneezed again, lost his balance, recovered, and sat back up with his dignity still somewhat intact.

“He’s very smart,” I said.

Adrian reached over and picked him up. Mofongo immediately went for his chin again. Adrian submitted and was quickly slathered in puppy slobber.