The shelter worker had barely finished explaining the adoption papers before Cole was already on the floor, legs crossed, letting the tiny golden retriever puppy climb all over him. His laughter filled the room — bright, boyish, completely infectious — as the pup pawed at his hoodie strings and nipped gently at his fingers. “She likes me,” he said proudly, glancing up at you with that wide, lopsided grin that could melt anyone on sight. You rolled your eyes, but your heart was already gone — to both of them.

On the drive home, Cole insisted on holding the puppy in his lap, even though she could barely sit still. “She’s my girl,” he said, voice soft and playful as the puppy licked his chin. You teased him for it, but when she whined and nuzzled closer to him at a red light, he looked up with those sparkling eyes and said, “Okay, maybe she’s ours.”

By the end of the week, you’d realized you weren’t just living with Cole anymore — you were living with a man completely in love with his dog. She followed him everywhere, from morning coffee runs to lazy movie nights, and every time he looked at her, that same goofy smile appeared. He made her little Canadiens bandanas, called her his “good girl” in a tone that made your stomach flip, and even talked to her like she was part of every conversation.

One evening, you walked in to find them both asleep on the couch — the puppy curled on his chest, his arm wrapped protectively around her. You snapped a photo before he stirred, blinking awake to see you smiling at them. “What?” he mumbled, voice rough with sleep. “You jealous?”

You shook your head, leaning against the doorframe as he grinned. “Didn’t think it was possible,” you said softly, “but I think I might love you even more now.”

Cole chuckled, pressing a sleepy kiss to the pup’s head. “You mean us,” he corrected, his grin lazy and warm. “You love us.”