Reaper (Boston Underworld, #2)

by A. Zavarelli

“What sort of dog is that?” He tilts his head to the side to examine her. “Is there something wrong with its wee legs?” “Conor thinks it’s a Corgi,” I tell him. “Google said their legs are supposed to be wee. I looked it up.”

In the parlor, I stop and cover my mouth to stifle a laugh when I catch Ronan carting the Corgi up the stairs beneath his arm while she tries to lick at his face. “What are you doing?” I ask. He sets her down at the top landing and smooths out his suit. “Her legs are too wee for the stairs,” he explains as he points at the offending limbs.