Separate names with a comma.
"Alright, sweetie," the baker said cheerfully. "It'll be on the end."
"C'mon, Zaddy. Please?"
He looked down at her. "Can you order? I can't speak to the person."
"But your nails are already black," she said sadly, looking down at them.
He nodded, heading up to the counter.
"Please, Zad?"
"We need to reunite them."
"Can I put white polka dots on it?"
"Can we return it?"
"You can choose. You could even choose black."
"That's so sad. The mama lost its baby."
"Please?" she asked, looking up at him. "Please, Zad?"
He frowned, looking distressed. "Who took the holes?"
She brightened instantly, coming over and taking one of his hands, inspecting it. "Would you let me paint your nails?"
His eyes brightened and he nodded. "Donut holes! That's right. Why are they called that?"
She leaned against the wall, rolling the muscles in her neck idly. "Would you ever cut your nails?"
He looked down at the pastries they had bought, frowning. “What are these?”
She squinted at him before taking a deep breath. “Fine.”
(Zoop?)
She looked disappointed, dropping her hands. “Okay, okay. Now what? Do I try again?”
