Tiffany gave an “okay” sign. “No problem. Your son’s nickname shall be ‘Smore’! It’s pretty cute.”
Smore, Rice Ball. A baby and a cat. Both little ones were Arianne’s saviors. The dreamcatcher with Rice Ball’s ashes had been protecting her from all nightmares. Smore was probably just as gentle.
The women wasted no time at the mall, buying whatever they liked. Soon after, the trio’s hands were full of shopping bags.
Suddenly, Tiffany’s phone rang. She strained to answer it with one arm. “Hello?”
“Shopping?” Alejandro ’s distinctively hoarse voice answered.
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