The park is empty.
Dew still clings to the grass, the fog not yet burned off, and he waits beyond the trees, the past lingering in the mists.
Fur sits heavy on his shoulder.
The sun creeps higher, grass clings to his boots, and then the sound of her car pierces the peace.
Brakes grind. Her engine cuts off. There's the slam of a door and keys falling on pavement. Soft curses.
He smiles.
But then he smells her, soft lavender wafting on the breeze. And he closes his eyes, committing it to memory until her breath catches behind him.