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Me:

Pickles is on my side.

I put the phone down on the counter, screen up, like that'll make her answer faster. It doesn't.

Quinn:

Would that last if I brought him a treat?

I glance down at Pickles, who's sprawled out on the rug.

“Seriously, buddy? You'd sell me out for a treat?”

He rolls onto his back, waiting for a belly rub.

“Yeah, probably.”

I give his stomach a scratch before picking up my phone.

Me:

You know I have treats here too, right?

The phone buzzes and I nearly knock it off the counter reaching for it.

Quinn:

Note to self: bring my own treats next time.

I read that again.

Next time, huh?

I grin at my phone, trying not to make too much of two words in a text about dog treats.

Me:

Next time? You miss Pickles already?

Quinn:

Obviously. He's the only reason I put up with you.

Me:

Ouch. And here I was thinking you liked my cooking.

Quinn:

Let's not get carried away.

I put my phone down and crouch beside Pickles, scratching him under the chin.

“She says she only puts up with me because of you. You believe that?”

He rolls onto his back, demanding more attention.

“Yeah, you're no help.”