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“Got any ideas?” I asked, since we clearly couldn’t give him a new one if he was used to an old one. That just felt wrong and confusing.
But, yeah,Inspectorwas an awful name.
“Figure we can start cutting it down toSpecter.Then transition it toHectorover time.”
Hector.
It kind of suited him.
“That works,” I decided, nodding, and leaning into him.
“Figure you can name the kids. I’ll name the dogs,” he said, his arms going around me.
It wasn’t the first time he’d talked about kids, about a future.
And I swear each time he did, I fell just a little bit more in love with him.
“Love that plan.”
Wells - 1 year
“Shhh, mommy’s working,” I said when the dogs went a little batshit as I walked in the door, a bag of takeout in one hand, and another with some bones to keep them busy while we ate.
Boss and Tilly had good manners.
Hector was a shameless beggar, even though we’d never given him scraps.
“It’s okay,” Mari called, closing her laptop lid, and reaching up to rub her eyes, telling me she’d been staring at the screen for hours without a break.
“Did she kill her attacker yet?” I asked, reaching down to pet each of the dogs’ heads as I moved into the kitchen, Mari following the scent of dinner in as well.
“She’s working on it,” Mari said, giving me a smile.
I’d been a little concerned at first, when I found out she was writing thrillers featuring, exclusively, women who saved themselves. But according to her therapist and Gawen, it was a healthy outlet for her.
Plus, the first one had been so well-received that she had people begging her day and night for another one.
She’d been terrified for the weeks following her being fired from her job. Writing had just been an outlet for her boredom at first. Until she shared it with some people in her true crime community who told her she really needed to finish and publish it.
So she did.
Independently, sure her friends were just being nice, and that it wouldn’t sell more than a few copies, mostly out of pity from said friends.
That ended up being true.
For a week or two.
Then some sort of ‘book influencer’ picked it up, loved it, talked about it, and the rest was history.
She was making almost as much as her physical therapy job, while getting to be home with the dogs all day, and engage with the true crime hobby that had been a part of her life for so long.
“How was your day?” she asked, grabbing the plates.
“Financial crime,” I said, giving her a long-suffering look that had her patting my back.
“If you want some excitement, I could use a set of eyes on if what my heroine is doing is physically possible,” she said.
“Happy to have the action fictional,” I said, pulling her close to press a kiss to her lips.
