Page 4 of Better Than Baby

“Twenty-four hours.”

Margo smiled. “You got it.”

Eighteen hours later, we returned with a puppy carrier and an SUV filled to the brim with necessary new pet purchases—and went home with a new family member.

We unzipped the travel carrier in the middle of the great room and sat on the floor, coaxing the puppy out with baby talk that should have been embarrassing but felt sort of natural.

“C’mere, sugar sweetie love bug,” Aaron crooned.

Okay, well…maybe it was a little over-the-top.

“Sugar sweetie love bug?”

Aaron nodded. “Also, fluffy bunny baby boy and cutie-kins cupcake and?—”

“How about a real name?”

“Hmm. That’s tricky.” Aaron pulled the puppy onto his lap and cuddled him close. “Unless you’ve decided to entertain delicious superhero namesakes.”

I rolled my eyes. “Nope. And you have to admit, he doesn’t give Chris Pine vibes anyway.”

“True. He’s more of a Seamus or a Murphy or?—”

“Murphy! I like that.” I draped an arm over Aaron’s shoulders and scratched the puppy’s chin. “Murphy Mendez-Sulli?—”

“No, no. We should think about it some more. No reason to be hasty.”

I rested my forehead against his temple, closing my eyes for a beat. “He’s ours, Aar. No one’s going to take him away.”

He didn’t respond for a moment, and when he did his voice was thick with emotion. “I know. I know. I just don’t want to jinx anything.”

“There’s nothing to jinx, baby. This little guy is officially a member of the Mendez-Sullivan clan.” I flattened my thumb on one of his ears. “And I’m sorry, but I’m not calling him Sweetie love bug pumpkin face.”

“Sugar sweetie love bug,” he corrected, burying his nose in the puppy’s scruff. “You’re right. He’d probably protest the mushy endearments in his teens, which come relatively quickly in dog years. Let’s think. I mean, Murphyisa good name, but it needs pizzazz.”

“I’m afraid to ask, but…what kind of pizzazz?”

Aaron’s lips twisted in amusement, and the spark of mischief in his eyes was such a relief that I was ready to agree to even the wildest suggestion.

“Sir Murphy Pedro Pascaldoggalito Mendez-Sullivan, Esquire.”

I snort-laughed. “That’s a…mouthful.”

“Mmhmm. Murph for short.”

Murph scrambled out of Aaron’s hold and toddled around the great room. We’d done a massive remodel a couple of years ago to create an open space…and a lot of opportunities for a curious puppy to cause trouble. Murphy didn’t seem bent on mischief at the moment, though. He was in exploration mode—sniffing the rug, the sofa, and the coffee table before heading into the kitchen.

We followed him to the island, steering him away from nipping the dish towel hanging from the stove. Murphy let go, sitting on his haunches to scratch his ear. Even that was adorable.

I sat on the floor and leaned against the island.

Aaron joined me, brushing my shoulder as he got comfortable. “Maybe we should tell him about the endless treat supply and if he’s still on the fence, we’ll bring out the toys and…ooh, we have to show him the yard. Murph, you’re going to lose your little puppy mind.”

“I think he’s just happy to be here, aren’t you, little guy?”

Murphy waddled between us, perched a paw on Aaron’s leg, and barked in response.

He picked Murphy up with a “Whoop” and hugged him close. “He approves!”