Spencer sat at the worn wooden chess table in the park, his fingers hovering over the pieces with absentminded precision. The game was more habit than challenge—his opponent, a grizzled older man named Walter, had long since resigned himself to inevitable defeat, though he still showed up every Saturday, claiming it was “for the fresh air.” Spencer suspected it was more for the conversation, though he wasn’t sure what anyone gained from speaking with him. Most found his tendency to ramble exhausting.

He glanced up briefly as a dog barked somewhere nearby, disrupting his train of thought. Across the path, you knelt on the grass, laughing as you tried to wrangle an excitable dachshund. Your hair caught the sunlight, and something about the warmth in your expression made Spencer pause. You were fully engaged with your dog, completely unaware of the rest of the world—of him.

It was rare for someone to catch his attention like that. He was usually too consumed by his own thoughts, the weight of knowledge and statistics constantly pressing on his mind. But there was something about you, something effortless. He found himself lingering on the way you ruffled the dog’s ears, the soft command in your voice as you coaxed it back to your side.

“You’re up, kid,” Walter grumbled, snapping Spencer out of his thoughts.

Right. The game. He quickly executed his next move, an obvious checkmate, and Walter groaned in defeat.

Spencer looked back toward you again as your dog started to happily run everywhere again.