Pudding flopped onto the ground between Athan and Rachel, whining and refusing to budge.
The dogsitter tried calling him over, but the dog ignored her completely.
Rachel crouched down, gently scratching Pudding’s head, her voice soft and coaxing.
“Be good, Pudding. Go take your bath. I’ll come find you later.”
The next second, Pudding’s attitude completely changed. His tail wagged, and he obediently trotted off with the dogsitter.
Athan frowned.
Unbelievable.
He had raised this mutt for years, and the moment Rachel appeared, the dog forgot who had been feeding him all this time.
Rachel cleared her throat. “How old is Pudding?”
“Thirteen.”
“That old already.” Rachel smiled. “He looks really well taken care of.”
“You don’t remember him at all?” Athan asked.
Rachel met his gaze,
