“Unless he already rigged them up, proactively.”

She made a face, knowing that John was right. “That is likely, isn’t it? Poor mother of Tick. Her house is probably going to have an extra hole or two by the time we get our hands on Sonny.”

“Mother of Tick sounds like a prayer…or a curse word.”

“I’m sure we’ll be using both before this is done.” She sighed, trying to get her thoughts in order. They needed a plan, a good one, or they’d end up getting exploded along with Mother of Tick’s house.

Making a sound of agreement, John pulled up to the curb and turned off the car. Curious and still a little apprehensive about the whole home visit, Molly peered out her window at the adorable little brick house. “This is yours?” she asked, opening her door automatically before catching herself. “Did you want me to stay in the car?” Contrarily, now that she’d seen the outside of John’s home, she was intensely interested in seeing the inside as well.

“Like a neglected dog?” he asked. Before she could decide whether that had been rude or not, he continued. “C’mon. Let’s get inside.”

As she climbed out of the car, she decided that she couldn’t let his comment go. “A neglected dog?” she repeated, her tone chilly enough to make him wince.

“I said I wouldn’t leave you in the car,” he explained, his expressive hands making circles as he tried to think of the right words. “I wasn’t calling you a dog or anything. I was saying that would make me a terrible owner—er…I mean, person—if I left you here to die in the heat of a closed-up car. See?” He grimaced, obviously knowing that he’d mucked up the explanation.

Clucking her tongue disapprovingly, she walked ahead of him to the adorable house, holding back her smile and letting him stew in his own awkwardness. It was rare to see John so flustered, and she wanted to squeeze every last drop of enjoyment out of the moment.

“Molly…” He drew out her name, sounding so tortured that she was tempted to relent. When he grabbed her hand and tugged her around, she stared at their interlocked fingers. Was John actually holding her hand? “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to even imply that you were a dog or had any characteristics that could, in the tiniest way, ever be considered canine. I’m the useless, socially impaired mutt who manages to say exactly the wrong thing to you every single time.”

That made it impossible to hold back her laughter.

“Oh, good.” He sounded tentatively relieved as he squeezed her hand. She hated to admit it, but the press of his large, warm palm against hers felt comforting and really, really nice. “Does this mean you don’t want to rip my face off?”

“Yeah.” She stepped to the side, surprised at how reluctant she was to untangle her fingers from his so he could unlock his front door. From the way his grip tightened for a moment before he released her, he felt the same way. “For now. I imagine it won’t last too long, though.”