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POUNCE & SORA

A fter four years, I could tell the time by the dogs.

Milo and Daisy, the golden retriever siblings who usually dragged a half-asleep Mr. Carlos behind them, meant it was around 7:30. Bean, the dachshund? Closer to eight. And whenever my husky, Pounce, and I passed the schnauzer with the woman in the neon vest who never said hello, it was officially too late. We'd have to skip the coffee shop and go straight home so I'd be ready for work on time. But that only happened once every other month.

Most mornings, everything fell into place. Pounce and I would hit the path across the river at 7:40 a.m. and do a slow, looping circuit of the park until we reached Main Street. There, we’d make a short pit stop at The Morning Pup —the only coffee shop where every beverage comes with a complimentary dog treat—before walking all the way back in the opposite direction. By 8:15, we’d be home, just in time for a quick breakfast and the first Slack message of the day.

It wasn’t exciting. But it was peaceful. Just how routines should be. Pounce got his exercise, and I got to nod at familiar faces, pat familiar dogs, and feel like I belonged to something, even if it was just the morning air.

Until one Tuesday morning in early October, when the pattern broke.

As we approached the bench under the maple tree where we usually stopped so I could finish my coffee and Pounce could sniff a few desperate blades of grass, I spotted someone new .

A guy.

Maybe in his early thirties.

Bent over with his right foot braced on the ground, he struggled to untangle a leash from an overly enthusiastic bulldog puppy.

He let out a low, warm laugh, utterly unaware that Pounce had stopped walking and was now staring at the new dog as if it were love at first sight.

I held my breath, too.

The guy was gorgeous —dark curls pushed back from his forehead, an open windbreaker over a T-shirt with the vintage logo of our local brewery, Hops & Dreams, and the scruffy, effortless charm that looked like it came with its own playlist. In short, he was the kind of guy I’d like to play fetch with if I were a dog.

Fixing my eyes on him, I blocked out everything around me, which was probably why my next step forward caused me to stumble over a raised tree root that I knew was there , one that shouldn't have sent me flying after walking this path over a thousand times.

The guy looked up at the shuffle of my feet as I regained my balance, met my gaze, and... smiled. It was one of those broad smiles where the eyebrows shoot up, as if he were apologizing for the turmoil and begging for help at the same time.

My brain spun like a dog chasing its tail.

The bulldog puppy leaped toward us, its entangled legs causing it to plow into the grass nose first. The guy jumped right after it, dropping to one knee. His fingers moved quickly to loosen the leash, finally freeing the squirming bundle of energy from its misery. “I think she wants to say hi,” he said.

The bulldog yipped in agreement, and Pounce responded with a low, encouraging whine.

“Looks like it,” I croaked, finding my voice near the bottom of my stomach.

Pounce and I made our way over, and the dogs wasted no time doing the classic spiral dance—sniff, circle, tail wag, repeat. The puppy yipped again, its tiny paws hopping excitedly in place. Older and more measured, Pounce released a low chuff that seemed like approval.

“He’s beautiful,” the guy said, nodding toward Pounce. “Big softie, huh?”

I loosened the leash, allowing Pounce to lean into the sniff exchange. “Very big. Very soft. And luckily a cuddler, too.”

The guy chuckled. “I can’t say that about her. She’s more into tug of war. At least, that's what she's wanted to do most since she moved in.”

Out of nowhere, the puppy leaped backward and spun so quickly that she wrapped her leash around herself twice. Oblivious to the consequences, she pulled toward Pounce again and tripped over, looking personally offended by gravity. Pounce tilted his head slightly as if he had no idea what the rookie was trying to achieve.

“Sorry,” the guy sighed, crouching beside the wriggling puppy. “Did your husky always make it look that easy, or is my little one just hopeless?”

“They’ll figure it out eventually.” I chuckled. “She’s your first dog?”

“Yeah. This is also our first time in this park, our first week in this neighborhood, and apparently her first time walking on a leash.” He scooped her up with an embarrassed smile and untangled her leash again. “Come on. You’ve done so well until now.”

“She’s adorable.”

“And a little rascal,” the guy said, setting her back down, keeping the leash taut so it wouldn’t happen again. “Her name’s Sora.”

“I’m Cato,” I replied. “And this is Pounce.”

“Oh my god. What a perfect name for a dog!”

“He demanded it,” I deadpanned. “I wanted something serious and noble. But the minute he moved in, he tried to make love to, well, everything in my house. I could only take that as his way of trying to communicate with me. Funnily enough, he stopped as soon as he got that name.”

The guy laughed—bright and real. And I found myself smiling a little too long before glancing down to break the gaze.

Sora dropped into a dramatic play bow. Pounce responded with a slow, amused tail wag. They weren’t wrestling yet, but the potential was clearly there.

“We should probably keep moving before they get tangled up,” I said, even though I would have liked to stay longer.

“Right.” The man straightened, brushing a leaf off his jacket. “Maybe she’ll figure out how to walk on a leash by tomorrow so they can play without tying themselves into knots.”

“We’re here every day. So, it’s a date,” I replied, surprised by my boldness. “Same time. Same bench. Otherwise, Pounce will cry all day.”

“We don’t want that.” He smiled again and tucked his left hand into his jacket pocket. “I’m Matt, by the way.”

“Nice to meet you, Matt,” I replied, my voice softening. We stared at each other uncomfortably for another second before nodding in opposite directions. I gave Pounce’s leash a gentle tug, signaling that playtime was over for now. “See you tomorrow then.”

“We will,” he called after me, dragging Sora along as she resisted, still eager to stay with her new friend.

A few feet away, I couldn’t help but glance over my shoulder. Matt was doing the same. Our eyes met for half a second—just long enough to feel a spark.

I didn’t expect to see Matt again the next day. At least, that’s what I told myself.

Taking the same route as always? That had nothing to do with him. It was just routine, like brushing my teeth and putting on fresh underwear. I certainly didn’t skip ten minutes of doomscrolling to be a little early. Not on purpose, that is. Not to bump into anyone. Just... to enjoy my coffee and the crisp fall air a little longer.

Yet, the closer we got to the bench under the maple tree, the faster my heart beat.

And sure enough, there he was, wearing the same windbreaker, this time zipped halfway up against the morning chill, while Sora chewed on a stick at least three times her size.

Eager to close the distance between us, I tugged Pounce forward. But he didn’t need convincing. He’d already locked onto Sora.

“Hey,” Matt called out, acknowledging our presence with a brief wave of his right hand. Meanwhile, Sora tossed the stick aside and lunged toward Pounce, her stubby tail wagging like her life depended on it. “I was hoping you’d show up. She’s been looking for her boyfriend all morning.”

“Boyfriend?”

“Look, I don’t label her, but she’s definitely into older men.”

I laughed before I could stop myself. “Pounce will take that as a compliment. He likes someone who can keep up with his energy.”

The dogs resumed their sniff-spiral, picking up where they left off yesterday.

“You weren’t kidding about being here every day,” Matt said, glancing around the park and then at my coffee. “You’ve got a whole routine, don’t you?”

“If it’s one thing I’m good at, it’s coming up with a sequence of regularly followed actions,” I said, realizing too late that the pun would make no sense to anyone who didn’t know me and that it sounded a bit sad.

Matt didn’t flinch. “Honestly? I kind of envy that. I haven’t had a proper routine in months. But Sora’s eager to help me establish one.”

As if on cue, Sora nudged toward Pounce, wound around him and me, and looped back to Matt. Before I could even think to step away, their leashes twisted tight, trapping all four of us in a hopeless tangle.

Matt let out a helpless laugh and braced himself to keep from falling over. “Come on, not again.” He grabbed Sora and lifted her up, so she couldn’t make things worse. “Maybe it would be safer if we walked together instead of standing around,” he said. “At least until she figures out how that leash thing works.”

“You don’t enjoy getting hog-tied?” I joked and let go of Pounce’s leash, trusting that he wouldn’t run away.

“Not in the middle of the park, at least,” Matt replied. His voice was light, but there was something unintentionally candid underneath it.

I climbed out of Sora’s leash web, accidentally bumping against Matt’s butt with my right hand. Heat shot to my head, but there was hardly any time to acknowledge it. “Sorry about that,” I mumbled.

He gave me a quick, amused smile, clearly unbothered.

It took another thirty seconds of fumbling with clips and loops before we got everything back to normal.

The leaves rustled softly beneath our feet as we set off together, effortlessly ignoring the chaos from moments before. Somewhere above us, a robin trilled.

“So what do you do?” Matt asked once we turned the corner.

“I work remotely for a software company,” I explained, swallowing down the lump of embarrassment in my throat. “Some backend development. It’s very boring, as I usually spend all day speaking languages only computers understand.”

“That’s not boring at all,” Matt said, tugging on Sora’s leash to keep her from tying us all together again as she tried to slip under Pounce. “I dabbled in programming a little, too, back in high school, but... Let’s pretend the game I tried to develop didn’t crash my computer so often that I had to buy a new one when I started college.” He squeezed his right eye shut as he glanced at me. “Anyway, what do you work on right now?”

“You’ll be disappointed. It’s really unsexy.”

“It can’t be that bad.”

“I’m developing an internal audit logging system for administrative actions , which is a fancy way to describe a tool that discreetly records all activities by an admin, such as updating an email address or adjusting permissions. It doesn’t affect the user experience, has no cool interface, and will only be used if something goes wrong.”

Matt pulled his lips into a thin line before chuckling. “Okay, maybe it’s a little unsexy.”

“I warned you. But it’s an easy job with good pay, and I can take as many breaks as I want as long as I reach my goals by the end of the day.” Pounce, trained by our routine, veered to the left to lead us around the clock tower that was the park’s landmark. Sora dashed right after him. “How about you, Matt?”

“My job is boring, too. I’ve just started bartending at a brewery downtown.”

“At Hops & Dreams , right?”

Matt squinted at me, clearly trying to figure out how I knew. “What gave it away?”

“Their logo on your shirt yesterday.”

“I guess nothing escapes the trained eyes of a programmer.”

“Guilty,” I said, grinning as I gave Pounce’s leash a light tug when he veered off to sniff a bush. I shot Matt a quick, playful glance before falling back into step beside him. “So, how do you like working at Hops & Dreams ?”

“Oh, I love it. Brian welcomed me with open arms. Until now, he’s the best boss I've ever had, despite his grumpy attitude.”

We reached the end of the path too quickly. I stalled, fishing treats out of my coat pocket. But as soon as Sora and Pounce gobbled them up, it was time to part ways again. “Guess I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Matt nodded. “Yeah. I’ll be here. Routine, right?”

“Indeed,” I said with a smile. But as I walked away, I realized that the route didn't feel quite like my old routine anymore.

After that, we saw each other every morning. Whenever Pounce and I entered the park, he was there—either already strolling by the bench or arriving shortly after us, waving like it was all a coincidence.

Day by day, walk by walk, we got to know each other better.

On Thursday, we talked about cartoons we both used to watch and the best bad action films. Matt had strong opinions about RoboPolice Three , which I found both unforgivable and adorable. On Friday, with the weekend approaching, we discussed drinks. Matt liked dry reds, and I told him I enjoyed anything with citrus and fizz. Saturday was for trivial things—dogs, dreams, and how weird it was when birds seemed to walk on purpose like tiny people.

On Sunday, it rained. Not hard—just a drizzle that made the leaves on the path slippery and the air smell clean. I was sure I wouldn’t see Matt. He had mentioned working a long evening shift for a wedding the day before. But, as if he enjoyed our morning walks as much as I did, he was already waiting at the entrance to the park.

“Guess we’re the only dedicated dog parents,” Matt said, flipping his hood up.

“Pounce has opinions,” I replied, holding out a paw-shaped umbrella. “Mostly that I shouldn’t be allowed to cancel on him.”

We walked slower that day, talking about games. Matt liked old-school co-ops. I admitted I enjoyed anything I could mod to ridiculousness. We argued about which took more talent: playing by the rules or bending them until they broke. He called me a menace with a keyboard. I told him he probably just needed someone to corrupt him properly. Judging by his grin, he didn’t seem too opposed to the idea. But we left it at that. No invitations. No words that went beyond the hypothetical.

After that, I stopped pretending. I looked forward to our walks the way I looked forward to new video game releases or the next seasons of my favorite shows. I enjoyed spending time with him and getting to know him better.

He was good-looking and pleasant to talk to. It also helped that Sora and Pounce became friends.

But something kept me from pushing for anything more.

Matt had plenty of opportunities to take things further, but he never did. For all I knew, he might not be into guys—or at least not into me. So, I settled into the comfortable rhythm of our new routine and convinced myself that it was enough.

But no matter how much you tell yourself you’re keeping things easy, one slip, one careless moment is all it takes to tip the balance. And the following Monday, I made exactly that kind of mistake.

It started rather innocently. I brought coffee from The Morning Pup. Just one more, no big deal, I thought. What harm could it do?

Matt blinked as if I had handed him an award. Sora was equally thrilled about the treat that came with it.

“You didn’t have to?—”

“I know,” I said. “It’s routine.”

Matt smiled over the lid of his cup. “Well, now I have to return the favor.”

“No, you don’t,” I countered, realizing what I had done without even wanting to.

“How do you usually spend your Friday evenings?” Matt asked, ignoring my last sentence entirely.

My whole body tingled as if I were seconds away from being sucked out of Earth's atmosphere and thrown into space. “Why?” I asked, instead of answering.

“Friday is trivia night at Hops & Dreams , and I'll be working the bar. You can get a cheap night out on me.”

I smiled, reluctant to agree, although I wanted to more than anything. Images of how a drunken night could end flashed before my eyes: Skin touching skin. Lips trembling. Hands exploring where they shouldn’t—at least not in a regular friendship.

“Come on, it’ll be fun,” Matt added. “Those are the wildest nights. People get competitive when you ask how many hearts an octopus has.”

“Three,” I said automatically.

Matt looked delighted. “See? You should come.”

I knew that giving in to that temptation came with risks. What if I misinterpreted things? What if he was just being friendly and didn’t have the same intentions as I? On the other hand, if I ever wanted to see another side of him, I had to break out of my routine. Sitting at home alone would never get me there.

I ran a hand through my hair and glanced down at Pounce, who sat at my feet, wagging his tail as if even he were waiting for my answer. “Okay, so, when does it start?”