Page 150 of What We Break

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"Show-off," Reid mutters.

"You're jealous of a border collie."

"I'm not jealous. I'm impressed. There's a difference." He bumps his shoulder against mine. "What kind would we actually get? Hypothetically."

Hypothetically. Right. We're just talking hypothetically.

"Something medium-sized," I say. "Not too high energy, because of our schedules."

"But still fun."

"And good with people."

"Obviously." He catches my hand as we walk. His palm warm and dry against mine. "We'd need a yard."

"You have a yard."

"It needs work. Blake and I always talked about fixing it up."

Blake.

"Would he be okay with a dog?"

"Blake loves dogs." Reid steps aside to let a man with three dachshunds pass. Three. All on separate leashes, tangling around his ankles. The man looks like he's regretting every decision that led him here. "He'd probably train it better than we could."

That's not what I was really asking. But okay.

A corgi waddles toward us from across the park. Determined. Short legs pumping. It's like watching a loaf of bread with legs.

Reid spots it and stops walking entirely.

"Oh no."

"What?"

"Look at its little legs."

"Reid—"

"Laine. Look at them."

I'm looking. God help me, I'm looking.

The corgi reaches us, flops at our feet, belly up. Complete surrender. Reid's on the ground immediately, rubbing its belly, making cooing noises.

"This is my son now."

"You can't keep saying that about other people's dogs."

"Watch me."

The owner catches up—sixties, fishing hat, deeply amused expression. He's seen this before. Probably sees it every day.

"Chester likes you."

"Chester," Reid repeats reverently. "Perfect name. Perfect dog. Perfect everything."

"You got one?"

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