“Hey, baby.” I find London sitting in her room, typing away on her laptop, obviously deep into one of her articles.
She looks up to me, and her eyes widen in surprise. “Hey! You got out early.”
She stands from her desk chair as I reach her, and I pull her into a hug.
“What are you writing about?” I question, holding her in my arms.
“Well, actually, it’s a great story. Remember a couple of weeks ago when I wrote about that three-legged dog named Scooter and how he showed up missing from that animal rescue farm down in Monroe?”
“Yeah?”
“Well,” London says happily, “he was found!”
“Really?”
“Yes, he must have wandered off or something. They found him in the woods about a mile away from the farm. He had fallen in a hole and couldn’t climb out. A little three-year-old boy was out on a w
