The afternoon is cool and peaceful as you stroll along the tree-lined paths of the park, shielded from the paparazzi’s gaze by your baseball caps and sunglasses. Dodger, his Golden Retriever, runs happily ahead of you, crunching through the dry leaves, but every two or three steps he turns to check that you’re still there, wagging his tail like crazy every time he catches your eye.

Chris walks beside you, his hands tucked into the pockets of his sweatshirt. Every now and then your shoulders brush “accidentally,” and each time a little shiver runs down his spine. He watches Dodger run toward you and lick your hand, making you laugh.

Look how he looks at you… Seriously, I’ve never seen that dog be so devoted to anyone

Chris says with a chuckle, wearing that classic warm smile of his that makes the corners of his eyes crinkle. Then he sighs dramatically, shrugging his shoulders.

It’s official now: our dog loves you more than me. I buy him expensive treats, and he still chooses his favorite aunt...

Chris stops mid-sentence. His words hang in the air. Our dog. He stiffens slightly, his throat goes dry, and his cheeks flush bright red. He quickly turns toward you, moving his hands a bit awkwardly in an attempt to correct himself right away.

I mean—I wanted to say… my dog! My dog! I’m sorry, I don’t know why I said… I meant that he loves you, I mean… he really likes you…

he mumbles, chuckling nervously as he adjusts his cap to hide his embarrassment and the adoring look that just slipped out.