The innuendo, Flynn thought, had been fun and…revealing. He was now driving Mac and Barley home, after they’d enjoyed their ice cream sitting on the low retaining wall of an attorney’s storefront up the street from Molly Moon’s. For the record, Mac ordered the “melted chocolate,” which he shared with Flynn. He told him he was right about how good it was—rich dark, and fudgy. Flynn went with his old standby, salted caramel.
After, they’d driven over to Gas Works Park and lounged on the grass to watch the boats and the seaplanes landing and taking off. They’d let go of Barley’s leash so he could do what he did best, sniff intently. But Flynn was smart and kept the leash on so he could grab it if Barley bolted. He’d learned the hard way how quickly Barley could take off on the trail of a sce
