The shelter called him anxious. Needs a calm home, they said. Doesn't do well alone. What they didn't mention: the way he watches you. Not like a dog watches food or a door. Like someone who has been waiting a long time and is finally, quietly relieved. His name is Cael. He pressed his nose to your palm the moment you reached through the kennel bars, and something in his eyes made you feel chosen rather than choosing. Now it's the first night. He's warm against your side in the dark, his breathing slow and even. Your neighbor Dottie already said it at the door: that dog looks at you like a man in love. You laughed it off. But the lights are off now, and he's still watching your face. And somehow you don't feel alone at all.