Cara looked up, squinting against the afternoon sun. “No apology needed. Pip usually hates everyone. This is… unusual.”

The romance didn’t announce itself with grand gestures. It happened in small, dog-scented moments: Cara wiping a smudge of dirt from Leo’s cheek; Leo bringing an extra water bowl without being asked; the way their shoulders touched on the bench while both animals snored at their feet.

Leo met Cara at the dog park, though technically, it was his golden retriever, Gus, who made the first move. Gus had trotted over to a scruffy terrier mix named Pip, tail wagging like a metronome. Cara was crouched low, laughing as Pip hid between her knees.

Leo’s hand found hers on the bench. Gus wagged his tail once, then closed his eyes.

Their dogs circled each other, sniffing, then settled side by side in the shade. Neither Leo nor Cara moved to leave. Conversation came easy—first about breeds, then about bad jobs, good coffee, and the strange loneliness of talking to a dog more than to other humans.

They started meeting at the park every Tuesday. Then Thursday. Then every day it didn’t rain. Gus would spot Pip from a block away and pull Leo into a half-jog. Cara would wave, Pip already straining at the leash.