Blowing on it, I break it in two and toss half to each of the dogs. The two halves vanish mid-air with twinned Chops! leaving on a scent of fragrant steam.
Why just them?
Quickly, I fish out another sausage. Just as I’m blowing on it, the door swings, James strolls in, a bottle of cava in each hand, and I jam the whole thing into my mouth…
Fuck!
… frantically blowing air over my scalded tongue.
James doesn’t look at me as he puts the bottles into the fridge. Then, stacking plates and cutlery onto a tray, “Perhaps when you’ve finished donating our dinner to Scruffy and Dogzilla there, you would like to lay the table?”
“Um… yes… sure.” I swallow down against my blistered mouth. Fishing a corkscrew from the drawer, I wrestle the cork out of the Rioja bottle... “Nice choice by the way.”
