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He smirks. "You look really uptight. No offense."
I softly laugh. "That sounds like an insult."
He grins. "It's not meant to be. But relax, pet. Do your thing."
I take a deep breath and nod. He's right. I am acting differently. So I step into the next booth and begin sorting through clothes. Then I take in some sculptures and handmade jewelry.
Riggs keeps asking me what I want, but nothing catches my eye. Then we get to the pet booth.
A dozen cute puppies are in a little pen. A white furball Maltese runs toward me, barking.
"Aw," I coo. I bend over and pick him up over the small wire fence.
He's only a few pounds and licks my face.
I laugh and hold him in the air, beaming. "Look at you." I put him next to my chest, and he curls into me. I pet his soft fur and say, "Aw, he's so cute."
Riggs pets the back of his head. He states, "He's really tiny."
"Only four pounds," the owner informs us.
"How big will he get?" Riggs questions.
The owner answers, "Malteses get about twelve inches tall. They normally stay under seven pounds."
"Seven pounds. That's nothing," Riggs comments.
"Yeah, people like them. They're easy for traveling, going shopping, basically taking them anywhere you want to go," the owner states.
"Easy for traveling, that's good," Riggs claims, wiggling his eyebrows.
I kiss the dog and then put him back down into the pen. It pains me, but Riggs was right the last time we were here. It wouldn't be responsible for me to get a dog. He'd have to take care of it if I'm not there, or I'd have to hire someone to come with me. There are already enough people on tour with me. I don't need one more thing to worry about.
The owner adds, "They don't take up a lot of room in the bed either."
Riggs grunts. "We won't be sleeping with him."
I pretend to pout. "You're mean. I guess it's not meant to be, then." I glance back at the puppy.
The puppy stays near the fence, barking, jumping up, and trying to escape.
I crouch down, feeling guilty. "Aw, I'm sorry, buddy. I'd take you home with us, but there's just too much going on in our lives. I'm sure you'll find a good home."
The puppy barks louder and whines, making me feel worse.
Riggs whips out cash and asserts, "We'll take him."
I jerk my head toward him in shock. "What? We talked about this."
The look he always has, the one that says he's in total control and knows exactly what's right, appears. It also screams not to question him. It's the same expression that makes my insides throb.
He replies, "It'll be okay, pet."
I meekly say, "We do have a lot going on."
Riggs picks up the puppy. The fluffball stops, tilts his head, and stares at Riggs in the face. Riggs laughs, saying to the puppy, "Just don't think that you're in charge, buddy."
The dog barks, then tries to lick him.
