It only takes ten minutes to find my mate, but I’d be lying if I said I bore the wait well. My mind races with the unknown. Why didn’t she call me the moment she woke? Is she alright? Maybe I should have called Phillipe – he won’t have left her side.
Of course when my father wheels into the nursery, Isabel meets us at the door, her arms crossed over her chest. “Where have you been?” She demands. “That mate of yours has insured my pups will be up half the night! I tried to tell her they’d already napped but no, she couldn’t resist.”
A moment later I understand, because the video draws nearer and nearer to a masterful blanket fort as Dad crosses the room. And then she’s there on my screen, curled up at the center of a puppy pile. They surround her on all sides, arms and legs splayed over h
