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They both shake their heads.
She throws her arms up in the air. “This is unbelievable. Do you all live under a rock?”
We remain silent, waiting for her, no doubt long-winded, explanation.
“So, when you are driving and you see a yellow car, you have to be the first person to yell Spotto.”
I scowl harder. “What for?”
“Because that’s the game. You have to be the first to spot the yellow cars.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Good grief, you must be hard up for entertainment in Australia.”
The three of them giggle.
“Oh.” She holds up her finger. “And…” She turns back to talk to the children. “If you see a yellow Volkswagen, you need to yell punch buggy.”
My eyes flicker between her and the road. “Punch buggy?”
“Yep. Because you then get to punch the person sitting next to you in the arm as hard as you can.”
“Yes.” Willow laughs from the back. “I’m spotting one of these babies.”
I chuckle and shake my head.
What next?
“Punch buggy,” Brielle yells, and my eyes flash to her. She laughs out loud and points at me. “Ha! Made you look.”
I smirk as I pull into the drive. “I’m going to punch you in the buggy in a minute.”
The car falls silent as we pass the animal shelter sign.
“Wh
at are we doing here?” Willow asks.
I stop the car and turn toward them. “I thought we might get a puppy.”
“What?” they all screech. “Oh my God.” The children jump out of the car and run up into the building.
I turn my attention to Bree, and she smiles over at me with an affectionate glow in her eyes. “That may just be the hottest thing you’ve ever done.”
I smile, nodding as I look out through the windscreen. “I don’t know whether to be offended that my previous attempts to be hot have been so… underwhelming. Is that supposed to be a compliment or an insult, Miss Brielle?” She giggles as she hops out of the car. “Compliment, you baboon. Now get out of the car.”
We walk down the aisle of the shelter, inspecting the puppies.
“This one!” Samuel calls out, filled with excitement.
I peer in to see a shaggy looking mutt. I screw up my face. “We need a dog that doesn’t grow too big.”
“Right,” Bree hums as she studies the dogs. “What kind do we want?”
“Something friendly that doesn’t bark a lot,” I reply. “Or make a mess.”
Bree raises a sarcastic brow and I shrug. It sounds good in theory.
“Look at this one,” Sammy calls as he drops to his knees beside a cage.
