EPILOGUE
“So?”
Kiya met him at the door of his apartment. Her hair was pulled back in a businesslike ponytail. Peter disliked businesslike hair, especially on his warm, delicious wife of three months. In her arms was a soft towel, and snuggled into the towel was a tiny, wet, wiggling potato.
“Is that a puppy?” he asked, squinting at it. “Or a larva?”
Her nostrils flared in that delightful way she had. “Of course it’s a puppy! It’s number two, actually. April is doing just fine, although she has another puppy to go. Speaking of which, I’d better get back to her and make sure that she and Dumas are OK.”
“Dumas?” he asked, following her as she hurried to one of the spare bedrooms, which April, the rescue pug he’d given Kiya for her birthday, had claimed as her boudoir. They hadn’t known
