Chapter 9

“I’d want a bigger dog, though. At least bigger than Princess, so I wouldn’t need to worry I’d squish her to death while cuddling.”

I nod. “Or that you’d accidentally sit on her.”

He titters. “Oh, God. What a nightmare. That settles it. Preferred dog breed: big. Now, tell me something else about you.”

Our waitress returns with the coffee and the pie. “Enjoy.”

I accept the fork David holds out to me. “Pecan pie is my favorite,” I say.

“Mine, too. Who doesn’t love pecan pie? But that doesn’t count.”

“Fine.” I take a sip of the coffee and a bite of the pie. The crust is lovely and flakey, and the filling perfect, with just the right amount of sweetness. “This’ll make me sound ancient, but I’ve never understood reality TV. Why do people want to make fools of themselves like that?”

He shudders. “I could neverdo it. But I admit it’s fun to watch.”

I cringe. “Nah. Can’t do it. Makes me wanna hide behind a cushion. Your turn.”