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“In the living room,” he answers, and I smile at the joy I hear in his voice. I look around the apartment discreetly, looking for signs he’s hiding a dog.
Justin is grinning ear to ear, lounging on the couch with his ankle over his knee.
My packages slip from my fingers, the take-out splattering on the floor.
Remi is sitting beside him; head bowed, elbows on his knees, fingers linked before him.
“Hi,” Remi says quietly, and I gasp when the tightness in my chest informs me I’ve forgotten to breathe.
Justin winks at me from his cushion, practically vibrating in his seat.
“Told you my present was better.”
That...is not a puppy.
