“Oh, come on down. I’m not going to stop you,” he says.
Caleb laughs at that.
Gunner whines a little and Pike pulls another dog treat out for him. I don’t even bother protesting. I’m not worried about Gunner becoming unhealthy because he gets a few dog treats.
“Should have asked you first,” Pike says a little bit ruefully. “I just can’t help it when that cute dog comes in here and makes that little whine.”
“He hasn’t had breakfast yet, so I’m sure he’s thrilled.”
Pike leans down and scratches Gunner’s ear and Gunner’s tail slaps against my bar stool, making it wobble a little bit.
“You haven’t had food yet? Your momma didn’t feed you no breakfast?” Pike asks, and Gunner whines softly. “Well don’t you worry about that, pup. I’ll get you taken care of.”
“Don’t — you don’t have to do that,” I tell him.
Caleb laughs. “As if you could stop him.”
Pike gives us both a rueful grin and wanders back into the kitchen, and it’s not even two seconds later before he returns with a plate of scrambled eggs and two pieces of bacon and sets the whole thing down for Gunner.
Gunner wags his tail and licks Pike’s hand in appreciation.
“I guess that’s better than the stuff I normally feed you,” I tell my dog. “Thank you.”
“Oh, please. I like that dog better than you. Better than most people.”
I should be offended at Pike’s proclamation, and the way Caleb laughs, but I can’t blame him.
“I swear I’ve asked you for that dog’s breeder every time you bring him in here,” he continues. “I don’t know why you won’t tell me where you got him.”
I have to laugh at that, even though a little bit of my stomach flips with guilt.
“That’s because I didn’t get him from a breeder,” I say honestly. “He showed up on my door one day.”
“Dogs like that don’t just show up at your door. I don’t know why you can’t just tell me where you got them.”
I start to laugh because it’s completely absurd that I’m telling the truth, and the only thing that he doesn’t know is that Gunner is my familiar and magical.
“I don’t know what to tell you,” I say. “That’s what happened. I’m sure you could find a flat-coated retriever breeder that has someone just as cool as Gunner.”
Gunner growls at that and another piece of bacon disappears.
Caleb gives me a side-eye then squeezes my knee under the bar counter.
“I know someone that has Chesapeake Bay retrievers,” Caleb says. “I’ll give you his number if you want. He raises good dogs, too.”
“Nah,” Pike says. “I don’t have time to take care of a puppy right now. I’m busy with my new girlfriend. Maybe one day.”
Caleb gives me a long, sly look. “Be sweet to see a puppy and toddler rolling around together.”
I choke on my coffee.
Pike gives Gunner another wistful little pat and disappears into the café to go check on the rest of the customers.
“I hope he washes his hands well,” I mutter.
“That’s extremely rude,” Gunner says.
Caleb gives me a long look.
