A strawberry hue warmed his moon-round face, and he grabbed a melon pan before dropping into one of two rattan sofas. “I met someone at the pet store. She works there.”
I smiled and leaned back, happy for him, of course, but worried—like a mother—that she might not be right for him or he was imaging something that didn’t exist. “Tell me more.”
He smiled self-consciously and eyed the treat but didn’t take a bite. “Her name’s Dulana and she’s been working there for a couple months. She’s real pretty. Long hair like sunshine, always in a ponytail. Not skinny, not fat. Not tall, not short. Just right.” He smiled self-consciously again and finally met my gaze. “She’s so nice to me. Tells me what treats and food are good, which ones are bad. She loves animals, of course. Has a cat, Ralphie, tw
