I’m standing before the full-length mirror in Grant’s bedroom when I hear Hobbes barking at the front door. There’s a jangling of keys and then Grant walks in, home from running errands in under an hour.
His deep, familiar voice must be as soothing to Hobbes as it is to me, because the valiant little watchdog relents immediately. In the three months I’ve lived with Grant, they’ve really become besties. I can hear the jingle of Hobbes’s collar as he inevitably rolls over to show Grant his fluffy belly. Typical.
Typical.Grant’s soft murmurs carry pleasantly down the hall before he calls out to me. “I’m back!”
“Get over here!” I call back with a laugh. I can’t wait to show him.
“What’s up?” Grant says, stepping into his room with a furrowed brow. Always concerned.
Always concerned.“Stop
