Meeka lay back on the couch, and from the kitchen came the sounds of Izzy pottering around, and the sudden, heavenly smell of cherry pie. Shortly, Izzy came back into the living room with one plate, one fork, and one slice of sweet, flaky, runny goodness. She sat down cross-legged on the chair by Meeka's head and began to eat. Meeka gave her big puppy-dog eyes. "No pie for me?" "What's the magic word?" said Izzy. "Pleeeease?" Meeka did the eyes even bigger and rounder, until Izzy laughed. Then she scooped up a forkful of pie and held it out a couple of inches from Meeka's face. Meeka wasn't proud, not where pie was concerned. She lifted her head and ate the pie off the end of the fork. "Mmm," she said, and flopped back onto the couch. She felt a little stupid and unaccountably warm, not just from the pie, even if it was fresh out of the oven and delicious. From here she had an excellent view of Izzy's legs. There was a nick in the back of one knee where she'd probably cut herself shaving, and her toenails were painted purple.
