When Cal extended his palm to Mishka, the shepherd gave it a cursory sniff before decidedly turning up her nose. He let out a small chuckle, unfazed by the dog's apparent disinterest. "Can't win them all," he remarked with a smoothness that belied his slight disappointment, but he was no stranger to an initial rejection.

[i]"You mean three,"[/i] Ana had corrected him, referencing Mishka alongside Stella and herself. 

"Quite right, three! My sincerest apologies, Mishka, I meant no offense," Cal replied, lighthearted as he offered a polite nod in the dog's direction, acknowledging his oversight.

Ana's reminder of the promised meal brought Cal back to his feet, his grin broadening. "Indeed, you were! And I always follow through on my promises. Right this way," he said, leading the way to the bistro with a confident stride, Stella falling into step contentedly beside them.

The restaurant they arrived at was pleasant, its high ceilings and pristine white tablecloths setting the stage for a more elevated dining experience. Cal greeted the host by name, who grinned wide, welcoming them and leading them to a carefully chosen table. Opting for the indoor seating to avoid the looming threat of rain, a rarity in LA, the smell of fresh bread filled the building, warm and inviting.

Cal pulled out Ana's chair for her before taking his own seat across from her. His usual tactility was restrained today -- he'd normally insert a quick "accidental" brush here, a polite kiss on the hand there, but something told him it would be better to refrain from touching Ana. He didn't mind. Stella settled beside him.

Cal broke off a piece of bread from the basket at their table, feeding it to Stella before turning his attention fully to Ana, his expression curious. "So, Ana," he began, his voice earnest in interest, "What is it that you do? Other than outshining everyone at charity galas." His gaze, while appreciative, lingered not only on her physical attributes, but searched her for some sign of [i]who[/i] she was beyond a timeless beauty. He found himself simply wanting to know her, what made her tick, what kind of food she liked. For once, the interest didn't feel driven by any sort of hidden agenda, fueled by finding the most efficient path to get her into his bed.

Though, he thought as he gratefully accepted a glass of ice water from the waiter, he certainly wouldn't be opposed.