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“If you can. I can come pick him up too,” he said.

“Okay. I’ll text you.”

Chris stood and looked around the parking lot, then glanced at his watch. “Should we sit while we wait?”

“Sure.”

We made our way to the picnic table facing the tennis court. “So what’s this walk?” Chris asked.

“Mike went running in the park reserve last week and said it was really pretty. Lots of pear trees or something?”

“Oh yeah. They’re blooming this time of year. You’ve never been here?” he asked.

I shook my head.

I’d looked it up online. A ski chalet and swimming pond and miles of bike trails. “The website said it’s almost five thousand acres. They have a dog park too.”

“Oh, cool. We should take Woofarine.”

“We should take Woofarine. Woofie needs a lot more exercise so he’s too tired to kill things,” I said, giving our dog a fake stern look.

“Did I tell you he parkoured his way into the pantry a few days ago?”

I sucked in air. “No…”

“Yeah. He climbed the wire racks until he got to the cheese puffs. I found him inside the bag. He was orange.”

I burst out laughing. “Why didn’t you send me a picture?”

“I didn’t have time to take one because I had to put him straight into the sink. That stuff’s harder to get off than you think,” he said.

I was dying. “I’m sorry, it’s not funny.”

He was trying not to smile. “It is kind of funny.”

“Why do you think he’s like this?”

“I don’t know. Yorkies are ratting dogs. It’s probably bred into him.”

“Maybe he had to hunt for his own food,” I said, looking at the dog. “That’s sort of sad.”

“Well, at least he’s good at it. He didn’t starve.”

We sat on the top of the table with our feet on the bench. I plopped my backpack next to me and peered over at him. He had on a T-shirt, exercise shorts, running shoes, sunglasses—and a fanny pack. I made an amused noise.

“What?” he said, looking at me.

“Nothing. It’s just you have a fanny pack.”

“This is a satchel,” he said with mock seriousness.

“Riiiiight. A satchel.” I leaned back on my hands.

“You have an objection to practical walking gear?”

“It’s a little nerdy. And what about your water bottle? You’re going to carry it? In your hand?”

He lifted his shirt to show me a water bottle holster around his waist on the opposite side. He accidently flashed me a small glimpse of his stomach. A trail of hair and a well-etched V muscle. He pulled his shirt back down. “Is this cool enough for you or should I go back and get my beer hat?”