“Cute dog,” the server said as she headed around the table to drop off the entrees on the opposite side where she wouldn’t be as big of a distraction. “Hound?”

“German shorthaired pointer.” Knowing Olivia was still a bit nasal-sounding from the tears she’d shed in the shelter and wasn’t in the mood to bring attention to it, Gabe answered for her.

“What’s the difference?”

“Hounds use scent to hunt and typically have even longer ears. Pointers use scent, too, but they’re also sight dogs. Once they hone in on something, they’re better at posturing, so they make good gun dogs.”

“Huh. Who knew?” the server replied, pursing her lips. “Enjoy your dinners, and unless I can get you something now, just, ah, posture if you need me.”

Once she headed back inside, Olivia rewarded Morgan with the treat and an affectionate pat on the shoulder. “Good boy!”

Head and back as tall as the table, Morgan finished gobbling up the treat and attempted to shove his head over the side, hoping for a bite of Olivia’s locally raised trout.

Whoever had owned him had clearly worked with him enough for the dog to have learned some basic boundaries, or he wouldn’t have backed off so easily when Olivia gave him a firm “No.”

When he retreated, Olivia stuck out her lower lip. “Why is it that establishing boundaries feels so harsh?”

“If it helps, I don’t think they process authority that way. They’re pack animals and naturally obey alphas. It’s good that he’s listening to you as easily as he is.”

Olivia slipped a travel-size bottle of hand sanitizer back into her purse after offering Gabe some. “That makes sense, and I get it. I don’t want him swiping food off the table when I’m not in the room.” As if realizing the permanency of her words, she gave a light shake of her head. “Or anyone’s table, I guess.”

Her words stirred up Gabe’s desire to know what was bothering her tonight. He’d been patient, hoping she’d confide in him when her emotions ebbed along with her tears. Thanks to that wash of tears, she was makeup-free and as enchanting as ever, just in a more vulnerable way.

“How’s the trout?”

She nodded, following a bite with a sip of water. “Great. What about the salmon?”

“Perfect. I was tempted to go with that blue cheese burger, but I have no regrets.”

“Neither do your arteries,” she said, laughing. “You’re really doing good getting a handle on that cheeseburger addiction.”

“Odds were I had to grow up sometime.” After chasing down another bite with a swallow of wine, he took a risk and added, “The truth is, with you in my life, it’s much easier to think long-term.”