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Henry is enjoying a perfectly respectable morning.
It’s one of those rare early spring days in the city where the heat streaming through the trees in Prospect Park is enough to warm the edges of the air. The sky is clear, the world is soft, and Henry is walking David, which is objectively one of life’s greatest joys. He is floppy-eared and full of love, a creature of pure, boundless enthusiasm. Henry has missed him terribly in the past week—has spent far too much time in London wondering if David was being properly doted on, if Pez was following his instructions, if he was eating the right amount of food at the right times.
Pez had laughed at him, of course. Had waved him off with a blinding grin and promised I’ll have him back to you safe and sound, cross my heart. And Henry, the fool that he is, had believed him.
Which is why, when Pez slows to a stop in the middle of the path and tugs on Henry’s sleeve with a mischievous look in his eye, Henry immediately feels a creeping sense of dread.
“Now,” Pez says, in the tone of a man who is about to ruin his mood, “before you say anything, I just want you to know that this was done in the spirit of love.”
Henry eyes him, suspicious. “That is never a comforting preface.”
Pez only grins. Like he’s mentioning the weather, he casually gestures toward a man across the park. Henry follows the motion, frowning slightly.
The man in question is standing beneath the shade of a tree, flipping through a book, utterly unaware of what is about to befall him. He’s older than them, mid-thirties, perhaps, tall and broad-shouldered with dark brown hair peppered lightly with gray at the temples. He’s wearing wire-rimmed glasses and an expensive-looking watch, a worn leather satchel slung over one arm.
Henry doesn’t even bother looking back at Pez. “What exactly am I meant to be—”
Pez simply claps a hand to his chest, takes a deep, theatrical breath, and announces, “What an attractive man.”
And David—Henry’s sweet, beloved beagle—perks up like he’s been waiting for a cue and takes off. Henry watches in horror as David barrels toward the man, barking loudly, tail wagging, full of excited purpose.
The man startles, looking down in mild confusion as David launches himself into full display—circling his feet, barking happily.
Henry is appalled.
He turns to Pez, slack-jawed, and the bastard sighs, utterly pleased with himself. “I love to see a plan come together.”
Henry doesn’t even get the chance to formulate a proper response before Pez starts moving, all confidence and effortless charm, crossing the distance toward the poor, unsuspecting man.
He watches, dumbfounded, as his best mate slips an apologetic hand over his heart and makes easy conversation. They exchange a few more words, a few more smiles, and the man gives him his number. Not a moment later he waves the man off, strolling casually back toward Henry with David trotting along beside him, tail wagging.
He stares at Pez as he approaches, flashes his screen, the man’s contact info clearly visible before he locks it and tucks it back into his pocket.
Henry groans, loudly, dragging a hand down his face. “Percy, you are insufferable.”
“I am unstoppable,” Pez corrects, grinning, reaching down to ruffle David’s ears. “And so is my beautiful accomplice.”
David wags his tail harder, traitorously.
They start walking again, winding along the park’s paved path, the late-morning sun filtering through the leaves above them. “You trained my dog to—what, wingman for you?”
“I prefer the term romantic scout.”
Henry can do nothing but stare at him. “I trust you to care for my child for one week—just seven days—and you strip him of his innocence.”
“I take grave offence to that.”
“As you should,” Henry hisses. “I meant it in full offence.”
“I’ve taught David plenty of useful tricks,” Pez says breezily, sidestepping a kid on a scooter as they stroll toward one of the park’s food stalls. “You weren’t this scandalized when he learned to bark along to YMCA.”
Henry crosses his arms, slowing slightly as they approach a vendor cart selling hot pretzels and fresh lemonade. “Because that was properly entertaining, whereas this is a flagrant corruption of my sweet summer child.”
“I must say, I’m so proud of how overtly dramatic you’ve become. It suits you wonderfully.” Pez beams, moving up in the short line at the vendor cart, already reaching for his phone. “Were you like this in front of Mary? Is there a bounty on your head?”
“No, I’ve saved all my righteous indignation for you.”
“A pleasure and a pity,” Pez muses, grabbing a napkin from the stack by the register.
“You are banned from watching David.” He tells him firmly. Still he exchanges a polite smile with the vendor as he pays for his drink. Pez may ruin his sanity but never his manners. “He’ll forget of your existence by his 2nd birthday.”
“I’ll sue for visitation rights,” Pez counters smoothly, peeling a piece off his pretzel and popping it into his mouth.
“…And lilac does not suit you.”
Pez gasps, hand fluttering dramatically against his chest. “Well, now you’re just lying.”
They take their pretzels and drinks and find a bench near the lake, a spot half-shaded by a big oak tree. David flops onto the ground at their feet with a contented huff, tail thumping lazily against Henry’s shoe.
Pez tears off a piece of pretzel and flicks it onto the ground for a pigeon that has been hovering nearby, then glances down at David. “It’s objectively brilliant, and you can’t deny that.”
“Yes, I can.” Henry punctuates with a snort, breaking off a piece of his own pretzel and tossing it to David, who snaps it up in one go. “I’m only impressed he picked it up so quickly.”
Pez hums in agreement, reaching down to scratch behind David’s ears. “He’s a very smart lad. Aren’t you, Davey?” He rubs at the soft fur on his chest, voice dropping into something ridiculously affectionate. “You’re going to help your papa snag the prettiest eligible bachelors in the city.”
Henry sighs, taking a sip of his lemonade. “I’m back to seething.”
“I’ll check back once it lands you a proper shag.” Pez says with a laugh, tipping his head back against the bench, letting the sun warm his face. He nudges Henry’s knee with his own. “Missed you last week, you know.”
Henry just hums, breaking off another piece of pretzel for his pup, who eats it happily before rolling onto his side, tail still wagging.
And really, despite his best mate’s antics, it’s a perfectly good morning.
🐶🐶🐶
Henry doesn’t mean to ever actually use David’s new trick.
For one, he’s twenty-five years old, fully capable of picking up attractive men without the assistance of his adorable beagle. For another, he refuses to validate Pez’s schemes by proving they work. And yet.
And yet.
It’s a Tuesday, and Henry and David are at the park, the same as any other Tuesday, making their usual loop around the pond. He has his earbuds in, lost in thought—half-tuning out the world, half-thinking about a chapter he’s been stuck on all week, when he sees him.
A man, gorgeous, leaning casually against a tree with a phone in one hand, leash in the other. He’s tall, broad-shouldered, golden-haired in that sort of effortless way that suggests good genetics and better lighting. There’s a white poodle sitting perfectly at his feet, coiffed and pristine, a dog that, much like its owner, clearly requires effort to maintain.
It’s enough to pull Henry out of his thoughts. Enough for him to murmur, “Christ, he’s attractive,” without realizing he’s said it out loud. David hears it immediately.
And, with the speed of a missile locking onto a target, he takes off.
Henry barely has time to react before David is charging across the grass, barking excitedly. The man startles, looking down in mild confusion as the small beagle throws himself at his feet, yapping happily.
With the full weight of realizing what he’s just done, Henry mutters a quiet, “Oh, for fuck’s sake.” But—and this is the worst part—it works. Because the man looks up, spots Henry halfway across the park, and smiles.
And Henry? Well. Henry is only human.
The whole ordeal, against all odds, results in drinks and a very satisfying orgasm.
It’s decidedly not David’s fault that the man—Patrick—turns out to be a furry.
And tough Henry, to be clear, is not one to kink shame. Live and let live, as it were. Explore all avenues of pleasure. He’s also not particularly keen on engaging in whatever experience Patrick was hoping for—specifically, the part where he’d suggested, voice low and expectant, that Henry consider wearing a tail next time.
Which was, of course, the precise moment Henry politely declined a second date.
They part ways amicably enough. Henry walks home with a new experience to file away for future reference, plus some absolutely fascinating material for his novel, so all in all he does count it as a win.
The only actual loss is having to share the ordeal with Pez over brunch the next day and his positively delighted smugness.
Henry sighs, long-suffering. Pez grins.
“Which means—”
“No,” Henry says immediately.
Pez presses a hand to his chest, looking faux-wounded. “You don’t even know what I was going to say.”
“If it was anything in the realm of ‘we should refine the method’, I refuse to be a part of it.”
Pez grins wider, sipping his mimosa like he’s already got plans.
Henry exhales, drags a hand down his face, and mutters, “I hate you.”
“You love me,” Pez corrects, beaming.
Henry picks up David and buries his face in his fur. David, the little deviant, just wags his tail.
🐶🐶🐶
Six months and more than a handful of toe-curling romps later, Henry has to admit—begrudgingly, painfully—that he owes Pez an apology.
Perhaps even the moon and stars.
Because as it stands, Henry has just encountered the most attractive man he’s quite possibly ever seen, in both real life and his dreams, and Henry would sooner trade his pristine first edition of Emma than risk never seeing him again.
David seemingly agrees.
Henry had only been passing through the tennis courts, taking the long way to a shaded bench, absently sipping his iced tea, when his attention snagged on one of the players mid-match.
His hair is damp with sweat, dark curls sticking slightly to his forehead, but it suits him—like he was meant to be seen like this, glowing and unapologetically alive. His skin, golden and warm under the sun, shoulders and arms flexing with every sharp, precise movement. A white t-shirt clinging to his torso, the hem rising just enough to flash the smooth cut of his stomach each time he swung his racket.
Henry stands entirely entranced as he watches the man laugh—bright and easy, carefree in a way that shakes something loose in Henry’s chest.
Before he has a chance to overthink it, Henry discreetly points to the court and murmurs to David, “he’s attractive.”
In a blink, the beagle is gone, sprinting across the pavement with single-minded determination, ears flopping with each bound. As practiced, Henry hurries after him, calling his name. David does not listen, he knows the rules of this game.
Most men David approaches are friendly, pleasant, easily charmed by a cute dog before their attention inevitably shifts to Henry. It’s a predictable sequence—David is very adorable, but Henry has a smile, and men tend to forget about the dog in the face of it.
Henry doesn’t love it, but he understands it.
But the tennis player—who, he now realizes, is even better-looking up close, devastatingly so—doesn’t just acknowledge David. He immediately falls for him. The second David reaches him, tail wagging like mad, the man doesn’t hesitate—just drops his racket, crouches to David’s level, and beams.
David launches himself into the attention, licking eagerly at the man’s fingers, rolling onto his back for belly rubs, and the man gives in immediately, scratching at David’s stomach with both hands.
Henry does his best to recover, clearing his throat as he finally closes the distance between them. “I’m so sorry,” he says, shaking his head. “I don’t know what’s gotten into him.”
It’s only partly an act—he’s never seen David this enthusiastic before.
The man just laughs again, bright and ridiculously endearing, and rubs at David’s ears. “Don’t be sorry,” he says, looking up at Henry and effectively taking his breath away. “This little guy’s been the highlight of my day.”
Deep brown eyes, wide and lively, crinkling slightly at the corners from his smile. And good lord, his smile. Wide and bright, boyish and charming, dimples flashing on both cheeks, like the kind of grin that should be banned in polite society.
It’s so warm, so effortless, that Henry feels momentarily unmoored. He can’t look away.
His dog, bless him, is still soaking up the attention, licking at the man’s fingers with renewed enthusiasm, and Henry forces himself back into the moment.
“David, play nice,” he chides, tugging gently on the leash.
Tennis Adonis, as Henry’s brain has not-so-helpfully labeled him—pauses mid-scratch, eyes flicking up with something between amusement and disbelief.
“Hold up,” he says, raising a brow. “Did you just call him David?”
David, ever the willing participant, barks happily at the sound of his name.
“That is his name.”
Tennis Adonis leans back on his heels, looking genuinely scandalized. “I think this might constitute animal abuse.”
“Oh?” Henry crosses his arms, deciding to play along. “And how exactly have I wronged him?”
“For starters,” the man makes a grand show of gesturing to David, as if presenting a key exhibit in his argument, “he’s the cutest little beagle I’ve ever seen, and not an accountant, as the name suggests.”
Henry snorts. “It’s an ode to Bowie.”
The man considers this with a tilt of his head. “Then why not just go with Bowie?”
“Where’s the fun in that?” Henry says with a shrug.
“Huh..” A slow grin spreads across the man’s face, something pleased and entirely too charming. “You know what? Hell yeah.”
He straightens up and extends a hand. “I’m Alex, by the way.”
Henry takes it automatically, palm warm against his own. “Henry. It’s lovely to meet you.”
Alex’s grip lingers just a fraction longer than necessary. “Pleasure’s all mine.”
Henry feels it immediately—feels the heat of that gaze, the flicker of something sharp and teasing in Alex’s eyes before his attention flicks back down to David, who is now contently sitting between them, tail thumping against the pavement.
“Well,” Henry says, attempting composure, “it seems David is just as charmed.”
Alex grins, giving the beagle another enthusiastic scratch behind the ears.
“Alright, Alex, enough flirting—I’m adding twenty minutes to your set,” a voice calls from the bench.
Henry glances over to see a small woman—Alex’s trainer, presumably—watching them with his arms crossed, looking unimpressed.
Alex sighs, tossing a look over his shoulder. “Make it twenty-one, Z,” he calls back, then turns to Henry, undeterred.
“If I’m reading this wrong, feel free to say so,” he says, adjusting his grip on the base of his racket, fingers pressing just a little too tightly. “But could I maybe get your number? It’s not every day you meet an angel.”
He waits, expectant but not pushy, his easy charm still intact but his posture just shy of uncertain. He’s nervous, Henry realizes with a jolt, and the thought of it sends a thrill down his spine.
“A bit too early for nicknames, no?” He teases, because it’s the only thing he can manage to say.
It works all the same. Alex grins, quick and pleased. “Well, I meant it for David. Still workshopping what yours will be, sweetheart.”
“I think menace works for you,” Henry mutters, rolling his eyes but unable to stop the smile tugging at his lips as he pulls out his phone and hands it over.
Alex takes it easily, tapping in his number before handing it back.
“We’ll let you get back to practice. And I’m sorry again for the interruption.”
Alex shakes his head, still looking entirely too pleased about all of this. “I’m not.” With a smirk, he steps back onto the court, resting his racket on his shoulder. “I’ll text you in one hour and six minutes.”
“And not a minute sooner,” the trainer calls from the bench.
Henry shakes his head, stepping back. “I’ll wait.”
And as he walks away and glances down at David—who looks entirely all knowing—Henry thinks that he’d happily wait forever for this man.
🐶🐶🐶
“June thinks we should all book it together, so there’s no chance of us ending up on different flights,” Alex says, rubbing his hand over David’s head as the beagle sits between them, watching the world pass by. “Which, in theory, is the right move.”
The Christmas Village is very charming, all twinkling lights and the scent of cinnamon and roasted chestnuts curling in the crisp winter air as they wait for their drinks at one of the stalls.
Henry quirks an eyebrow. “Why not in practice?”
“You haven’t met Airport June and Nora.” His boyfriend grimaces like he’s seen unspeakable things. “They’re extremely functional people until the exact second they step into an airport, I swear.”
“What does that even mean?”
“It means we once missed a flight to my dad’s because June couldn’t pick which book she wanted to buy before boarding. Mind you, her Kindle is like the Library of Alexandria.”
Henry laughs, shaking his head. “To be fair, love, airport bookstores have a certain appeal.”
“Oh God,” Alex groans. “Not another one.”
Henry just squeezes his hand, not even bothering to fight back his lovesick smile, and leans in to press a kiss to Alex’s cheek.
Their drinks come up—hot chocolate for him, coffee for Alex—and as they step out of line, Alex nods toward a nearby bench, nudging Henry’s shoulder.
“Look, that one’s open.”
He glances around. “Where?”
“Right there, baby. See the guy? Not the green cap, the attractive one.”
It happens so fast.
One second, Henry is processing Alex’s words, the next David is ripping the leash from Alex’s loose grip and bounding forward. The leash tugs sharply, nearly pulling Alex off balance, and Henry realizes—too late—exactly what has just happened.
“Oh fuck me—”
He rushes forward, already mortified. “I am so sorry,” he says hastily as Alex finally gets a grip on David, tugging him back from where he’s enthusiastically sniffing at the poor man’s boots. “He’s usually much better behaved, I swear.”
The man, thankfully, looks more amused than annoyed, crouching down to rub behind David’s ears. “Oh, no worries,” he says, grinning. “Happy holidays.”
Henry manages to get them away before David can take things further.
“That was weird, right?” Alex says once they’re out of earshot, brow furrowed. “It’s like he picked up exactly who I was talking about.”
Henry shrugs, desperately aiming for nonchalance. “Well, you did point in his direction, darling.”
“Yeah, but I’ve for sure done that before and it didn’t cause a reaction.” Alex gestures vaguely, still turning it over in his head. “It was basically what he did when we met.”
Henry takes a careful sip of his hot chocolate. “Perhaps he has good taste.”
Alex hums, considering this. Then he crouches slightly, scratching under David’s chin. “That it, Davey? You like attractive men?”
At the word attractive, the beagle starts barking excitedly, tail wagging, eyes scanning the crowd like he’s ready for duty. Henry, very pointedly, does not react.
Alex, however, straightens to face him, eyes narrowing like he’s trying to see inside Henry’s soul.
“Oh my God.”
Henry tilts his head. “Something wrong, darling?”
he bites down on his cheek as Alex’s face transforms, his entire expression shifting into something downright smug, grin stretching wide and bright and so fucking pleased with himself.
“Oh my God,” he repeats, like it’s finally hit. “This is how we met.”
Henry sips his hot chocolate again, slow and composed. “Is it?”
Alex stares then laughs, tipping his head back, looking genuinely delighted. “You manipulated fate because you thought I was hot?”
Henry sighs, long-suffering, but the truth is, he’s not even a little bit sorry and they both know it. Alex grabs his face, pulling him in for a quick, messy, laughing kiss and Henry kisses him back because he’s weak and he can.
“I knew I was irresistible,” Alex preens when he pulls away. “But this?”
“I regret everything.”
Alex just laughs, brilliant and open, his whole face lighting up, dimples carving deep into his cheeks. “No, you don’t, baby.”
Years later, when Pez includes it all in his best man speech at their wedding, milking Henry’s humiliation for all it’s worth, Henry still wouldn’t change a thing.