Page 47 of Revenge Brunch and Other Disasters

“It’s missing.”

The air shifted.

They tore through the apartment like it owed them money. Through drawers, through Rhys’s gym bag, through the freezer (just in case), through the laundry basket, through the depths of Linda’s purse where lip balm and mints went to die.

Nothing.

And then.

In the quiet stillness of heartbreak, came a sound.

A burp.

A soft, syrupy, self-satisfied burp.

Linda turned like a horror movie protagonist.

Sir Stumps-a-Lot was sitting squarely in the middle of the rug.

Looking smug.

Looking round.

Looking suspiciously... jinglier than usual.

“No,” Linda whispered.

“He wouldn’t,” Rhys said, already reaching for his phone.

Sir Stumps yawned. Stretched. And then hiccupped.

Clink.

Linda’s mouth dropped open. “He ATE it.”

“I mean, there’s a chance it was just near him when he hiccuped.”

“We are not hedging this. Call the vet. Cancel the cake tasting. We are at DEFCON 1. DEFCON DIAMOND.”

Rhys was already dialing.

Sir Stumps-a-Lot blinked slowly, like a corgi pope in judgmental repose.

“I can’t believe this,” Linda said, collapsing into a chair with her head in her hands. “I swore I wasn’t going to bethatbride. And now my dog is going to poop out my future.”

Rhys crouched in front of her, phone cradled to his ear, the world’s most patient fiancé. “It’s okay. We’re okay.Worst-case scenario? We delay the wedding one week and our ring bearer gets X-rays.”

“I’m not putting that in the vows.”

“I would.”

“Youwould.”

Rhys leaned forward and kissed her knee. “We’ll get through this. Together.”

Sir Stumps let out another burp.

Linda narrowed her eyes at the dog. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

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