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Summary
“You mustn’t encourage him, Alexander.” An expression of faint disdain crosses Stephen’s face as he glances sidewise down at the pup. “He’s incorrigible enough as is.”
Alexander’s eyes crinkle in a fond, small smile as he strokes the pup’s cheek. “Is that true?” He asks. “Are you incorrigible?”
The pup, Harry, puts on his most earnest face and leans against Alexander’s knee. He’s a lithe little thing, eyes a dark, coppery green beneath a cap of dark, untidy curls. His mouth quietly voluptuous. Alexander rests his hand in Harry’s hair and smiles gently. “No,” he says, speaking to Stephen but gazing at Harry, who keeps his eyes downcast, “he’s a good boy.”
Stephen rolls his eyes and takes a sip of his chenin blanc.