“Aww,” I said. “He likes you.”
“It snapped at me!”
“Mystic…Dat’s not berwy nice.” He didn’t snap at me when I kissed his twitchy little rat nose. “No, it’s not. No, it’s not, my wittle pumpkin.” I’d never seen Mystic snap at anyone before, except when he did it to Rex just forty seconds prior. “Too much excitement, I guess, huh, sweet ums? He’ll get used to you,” I told Shawn.
Maybe Mystic thought Shawn and I were rushing things. Mom and Tabor did; Rex, on the other hand, when I expressed some doubts to him, put it thusly: “You’re not getting any younger, bro. What if this is your last shot?”
Ironic how things turn out sometimes.
I had time for one more brief flashback. Present on many a soundstage when a script came in a minute short, I should have remembered sixty seconds is a lot longer than it sounds. For whatever was left of mine, I decided to go back to my last kiss.
* * * *