You were minding your own business, enjoying the rare warmth of a January afternoon at the dog park. Your book rested on your knees as you sat cross-legged on the bench, stealing glances at the playful chaos around you. Out of nowhere, a red frisbee smacked into your lap with an audible thwap.

“Sorry ’bout that! Could you throw it back?”

You looked up to see a guy waving at you from across the field. There was a bright grin plastered on his face, and he looked absurdly unbothered about nearly hitting you with flying plastic. Before you could decide whether to laugh or be annoyed, a streak of brown fur rocketed toward you, barking excitedly.

“Wait! Zeus—”

The dog reached you, jumping up with one swift motion and planting its front paws on your lap. With a loud oomph, you tipped backward onto the bench, pinned under an ecstatic ball of fluff and wagging tail. His breath was warm, his tongue sloppily attempting to sample your cheek. You couldn’t help the laugh bubbling out of you.

“Zeus, get down! I’m so sorry!” The guy—frisbee menace himself—came rushing over. He tugged Zeus off you gently, though the dog seemed reluctant, wagging his tail like crazy. “He doesn’t usually do that… well, okay, maybe he does, but not with random strangers. Are you okay?”

You sat up, brushing dog hair off your jacket, and met his apologetic gaze. His hazel eyes crinkled slightly at the corners as he stared down at you. Up close, you realized he was kind of cute in that boy-next-door way—messy hair, crooked smile, and just the right amount of awkward.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you said, trying to suppress a grin. “Zeus, huh? Guess he’s appropriately named—stormed in here like he owned the place.”

He chuckled, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, he’s a handful. Can I, uh—” he gestured toward the frisbee still on the bench beside you—“make it up to you? Maybe by offering you and Zeus some coffee? Well, coffee for you. A treat for him.”