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Logan had seen Charlie watching Wren while they were eating, making sure they wouldn’t have trouble with the piece of meat. While he was certain his mates were roughly the same age as him, he pegged Baz and Charlie to be at least a dozen years older, and their experience showed.

“We have plenty of bubbles in the downstairs bathroom,” Roark explained. “Do you add your own, or does your Papa do it for you so you don’t cause a bubblegeddon?”

“What’s a bubblegeddon?” Wren asked.

“A bubblegeddon is what happens when someone puts the bottle on the edge of the tub and a little wolf accidentally kicks it in,” Rusty replied, chuckling.

“It’s also what happens when someone gets the bright idea to put dishwashing liquid in the dishwasher instead of picking up more pods.”

“In all fairness, the dishes were super clean by the time the second cycle was over,” Rusty protested.

“So was the kitchen floor, the counter above the dishwasher, and all four pups after bubbles got everywhere and they crawled around in them,” Roark snickered.

“Awe, I bet they had so much fun, too,” Wren declared.

“They did. We took a bunch of pictures for their photo album,” Roark explained. “Would you like to see them after supper?”

“Yes, please!” Wren said, lighting up like Roark had just handed them a brightly wrapped package.

Charlie snickered “I have never seen pups covered in more bubbles in all of my days.”

“That is not to be taken as a challenge,” Logan cautioned Wren.

“Awe.”

“Oops,” Charlie muttered, cheeks flushing. “You’re Papa is right. The bubbles might be fun but cleaning them up isn’t. Wet floors mean wolves are more likely to slip when they forget to check if the floor is dry before stepping on it.”

“Just had to mention that didn’t you?” Baz grumbled.

“After the way you gave Rusty a hard time about making the mess, I’d have thought you’d err on the side of caution before tromping through the disaster zone,” Charlie pointed out.

“You are not as funny as our mate has led you to believe,” Baz shot back, voice dry as he side-eyed his mate.

“You’re right,” Baz replied, sitting up straighter while looking smug. “I’m funnier.”

Kale groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose, while Roark and Rusty chuckled.

Charlie rolled his eyes and pushed back from the table. “Anyone need another drink?”

“I’d love another one of these…whatever these are?” Logan asked, holding up the glass bottle and cocking his head. “It’s delicious.”

“Sparkling watermelon lemonade,” Roark explained.

“No wonder I couldn’t figure it out,” Logan replied. “I picked up on the carbonation and the watermelon notes, but I couldn’t figure out if it was juice, soda, or sparkling tea.”

“It’s bottled right here on pack grounds,” Roark explained. “The Jacobson family has been handcrafting beverages for three generations. All the ingredients are grown and harvested here on pack lands, and once a year, they hold a giant contest giving everyone the opportunity to suggest new flavors.”

“What happens if they choose your flavor?” Wren asked.

“Then you receive a dozen six-packs and the honor of having named it,” Roark explained.

“I want to think of a flavor!”

“Go for it,” Roark said. “But make sure you write it down so you can submit it when the contest starts. Last year, I dreamed up an awesome combination and forgot it before lunch. I still don’t remember what it was.”

Charlie chuckled at that. “The perks of getting up there in age.”

“Says the man with the grayest follicles at the table,” Roark reminded him.