She looked at me in alarm, but I grinned at her as I pulled her close, kissing her cheek, her temple, her hair. The rose petals pleasantly tickled my nose. “Let’s have breakfast, and I’ll tell you all about it.” “It’s dinnertime,” she corrected mildly. “Dinner, then,” I said. I bent forward, tucking my arm under her knees, and scooped up my wife—and the damn cat—into my arms. She squealed as I carried her out of the lab while Memphis leapt out of her grasp with an impatient hiss. “Can we invite Abdullah to eat with us? I have something that belongs to him. We are going to celebrate.”
