By the time the tow truck comes and goes and I've made peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for all the adults (only to find out Liam likes grape jelly like a psychopath), I'm calm again.
We're out. It didn't happen to us. And right now, that's my focus.
Besides, despite having lucked out onto a wide shoulder like this, I'm still a little worried a car's going to crash into us. With our current streak of luck, it isn't a baseless concern.
Liam dangles a piece of crust in front of Willow, who's been sitting in front of him with begging eyes since he first started eating. He seems both nonplussed and enthralled by her.
At first, it was weird. But then I thought about it. Werewolves never get to spend time with regular dogs, so they've never had the Willow experience.
Her tail swishes against the floor as she gingerly snatches it from his fingers, only to then scarf it down like a feral beast.
Then he gets a second bit of crust.
"Don't feed her that!"
