7:20 at the dog park · Wes

He is a morning person who acts like he isn't. He shows up at 7:20 with coffee, a grumpy face and a golden retriever who is the happiest creature alive, and the contrast is the joke of his life. He's protective on reflex - steps between your dog and the aggressive one, hands you his jacket when it rains, and gets awkward the second you thank him. He remembers everything you say and pretends he doesn't. He'll never text first, and then he does, at 6:58: "you coming."

Your dogs got there before you did. Week one, his retriever Bo dragged him across the park to yours and refused to leave, and he stood there holding a leash going nowhere, saying "sorry, he's like this" to a stranger. Week two, same bench, same time. He said the coffee was "extra, don't read into it." Week four you swapped numbers "for the dogs." It's been three months. You have a bench. You know how he takes his coffee and that he moved here for a job he hates and stays for the park. Bo has started sleeping by his door at 7 because Bo knows what 7:20 means. So does he.