Chunky growls again, pulling on his leash as we pass by an oak tree that has a squirrel running around the trunk. Too bad Chunky would never be able to catch it.

The dog park’s up ahead, and as soon as we get through the gate, I unhook Chunky, letting him run and make friends with the half-dozen or so dogs that are doing . . . dog stuff. I see three sniffing asses, one hiking his leg, and a few others chasing each other.

But I’m quickly distracted by Zoey. She looks so happy, a smile on her face and the sun shining on her face. She’s beautiful.

“You’ve got some fur on your shirt,” I note, wanting to reach up and brush the fuzz off her chest.

Zoey looks down and laughs softly. She brushes off her chest, smirking when she sees where my eyes are still going. “I see how you are.”

I shrug, not denying a damn thing. “Yup.”

I’m about to say more when, out of the corner of my eye, I see a woman approaching us. Going by the leash in her hand and graphic logo on her T-shirt, she’s obviously a ‘dog mom.’ “Hi, haven’t seen you guys around before. I’m Brianna.”

“Hi, I’m Blake, and this is Zoey. And that guy over there is Chunky.” I point to Chunky, who’s in the middle of a pack of playing dogs.

“Friends? Dating? Married?” Brianna asks boldly.

“Uhm, friends?” Zoey offers uncertainly.

“Just friends?” Brianna says, looking incredulous. “I though you two looked cute together. So, are you new to the area?”

“New to this dog park,” I reply. “Say, you—”

Before I can casually ask if Brianna knows anything about the social media famous dog trainer who visits this park, she starts yelling. “Boopie! Boopie, no!” Following Brianna’s eyes across the park, I see what looks like a schnauzer trying to get his freak on with a labradoodle, except other than the obvious height issue, I’m pretty sure the labradoodle is a boy, too.

“Rainbows in the dog park,” Zoey notes as Brianna hurries off with a huff. “Hope that didn’t offend her.”

“It was funny,” I retort. “But . . . friends?”

Zoey stumbles, trying to find words as she grows pinker and pinker. “Just, ahh, you know, to be a couple we . . . well, ah, God, I don’t mean that . . . you know, Blake?”

“If you’d go out with me, you could say we’re dating,” I point out, and Zoey turns even redder. “What is it?”

“Holly says I should go out with you,” Zoey says. “Says I should take a chance.”

Interesting, but . . . “And you? What do you say?”

I can see her trying to retreat behind her walls as she twists a toe in the grass. “I want to, but . . .”