A Bark in the Park
“I already am.”
Rufio let out a dreamy bark in his sleep, stretching between us with a grunt. We both laughed quietly, careful not to wake him.
Alan looked back at the sketch, then at me. “Bark in the Park,” he murmured. “Has a nice ring to it.”
“It’s more than a name,” I said. “It’s where it all began.”
He pulled me closer, our foreheads almost touching. “Then let’s build it.”
And just like that, the future started to take shape—not in some far-off someday, but right here, between pencil strokes and shared tea and the quiet rhythm of Rufio breathing at our feet.
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