Chapter 2 April
APRIL
By the time the dogs and I reach the Busy Bee, I’m ready for caffeine and human interaction, in that order.
The little bell above the door chimes as we enter.
Nina looks up from behind the counter with a warm smile. “Hello! Hello! Large caramel latte with an extra shot?”
“You know me so well.”
“I should. You’ve ordered the same thing nearly every day for the past year.” She’s already making my drink.
Full transparency: with this single exception, my wallet is locked down. I am in savings mode. However, this is my one indulgence. Okay, fine, and dreaming about Clark pulling off his helmet, shaggy hair flowing in a mystical breeze, and skating over to me before dropping to one knee …
I mean, how could I not? I got the mental tattoo at the age of seventeen and instead of fading with time, it’s only gotten more vivid.
Nina says, “The girls are out back.”
I do a little happy dance. “Yay! It’s finally warm enough to debut the new patio.”
The second the snow started melting, Nina announced an addition to the Busy Bee—a side patio with a few café tables, neutral-toned cushions, wool throws for chilly mornings, and a string of warm lights that bring her Danish heritage “hygge” concept outdoors.
“We are now a dog-friendly establishment. The water bowls are full and with thanks to you, the Barkery baked goods are in their usual canister labeled with your logo and website. Now, we’re just waiting for you to open your storefront.”
“I’m telling myself to be patient. I sent off my business proposal to the loan officer today. Fingers crossed.”
“And prayers up.”
“Thanks. I need all the help I can get.”
After paying, I grab my latte and head through the side door to the patio area that overlooks what used to be an outdoor ice rink with the “Barn” on the other side. The ice has melted, leaving behind a muddy but serviceable space that the local dogs have claimed as their unofficial park.
I have a sneaking suspicion that, in addition to this being a nice spot for bakery patrons to sip and snack, Nina and Lane’s kids wanted to get a front row seat to the “dog park” with possibly the intention of asking for a pup of their own.
Ella, Jess, and Whit are already here, their pooches playing in the muck with the kind of wild abandon that only animals with four legs can appreciate.
“Baloo, your bestie is here,” Whit calls out, her wavy light brown hair pulled back in a messy bun.
On cue, her bear-like mutt bounds over to sniff Moose in the intrusive way of saying hello that would never fly with people. The two of them immediately start play-wrestling, which is hilarious given their size difference.
I unclip the other dogs’ leashes and they instantly scatter to join the fun.
Ranger, Jess’s Bernese Mountain Dog mix, greets Buster with playful tolerance, while Bark Wahlburger—Ella’s medium brown mixed breed—attempts to herd Scout, which results in two herding dogs herding each other in circles. It makes me dizzy, just watching.
After the girls and I greet each other, I settle into one of the metal chairs. “This is why we need an actual dog park.”
Whit nods, likely dreading the full-works doggy car wash that will be required later. “With drainage and maybe some agility obstacles.”
“Add it to the list for the Community Activities Commission and town council funding agenda right below ‘fix the potholes on Golden Bantam Lane’ and above ‘stop Mrs. Gormely from starting rumors,’” Jess says with a sigh.
Ella raises her eyebrows. “So, never happening?”
“Pretty much.”
Fueled by coffee and pastries, we fall into the kind of conversation that flows naturally between women who’ve become friends through small-town life, dogs, and a shared love of hockey.
Or, more accurately—at least in their cases—a shared love of hockey players since they’re each married to a member of the Nebraska Knights.
As for me, I’m just friends with one of their goalies. Yup, that’s all. Just friends. So what if I have a crush? It’s no big deal. I mean, civilizations have survived worse. As for the United States of April, that remains to be seen.
“So,” Whit says after a few minutes, her tone taking on a particular quality that suggests she’s about to pry. “Clark went on a date.”
I nearly choke on my latte as my heart decides right now is the time to do cardio—I am not built to keep up with Scout when he goes at a full sprint. “Clark. Yes. Sure. He’s a man. With a face. Shoulders. Toes. He can go on dates and stuff. Why?”
“Oh, no reason.” She exchanges glances with Ella and Jess. “Just wondering if anything has developed. You two spend a lot of time together. Proportionately speaking, far more time than he does when taking someone out to dinner or a movie.”
“We’re friends. Best friends,” I say automatically.
“Right,” Jess says slowly. “Just friends. And I’m the Queen of Cobbiton.”
“If Liam had anything to say about it, you would be.” Ella bobs her shoulders.
“Yes. Just friends. That’s what we are. Friends who are just friends in the friendliest friend zone of friendship. If you’re asking if I like him more than a friend, obviously not. I just enjoy his company as a friend.” Frequently. In great quantities.
“You said ‘friends’ eight times in one sentence,” Ella points out not-so helpfully.
I bury my face in my hands. “I’m pathetic.”
Ella leaps to her feet and cheers. “I knew it!”
Several of the dogs bark whether to ask if everyone is okay or in agreement. I’m not sure. Turncoats.
I peer up at the woman I thought was also my, um, friend. “You knew that I was pathetic?”
Whit flashes Ella a scolding look.
She winces. “No! Not at all. That’s not what I meant. It came out wrong. I just knew that you had a crush on Clark.”
“Is it that obvious?”
“You’re not pathetic,” Whit says, reaching over to pat my shoulder. “But you’re in love with your best friend who hasn’t figured it out yet.”
“He’ll never figure it out,” I mumble through my fingers. “He sees me as a sister. Has since high school.”
This is the part where I usually change the subject, but they don’t let me off the hook and I relent—maybe it’s the spring air or the successful business proposal submission or the fact that I’m surrounded by women who all managed to find their happily ever afters.
Mentally digging out the long-lost key and recalling the secret password, I reluctantly pull out an invisible machete and use the blade to chop through the vines, overgrowth, and cobwebs to reach the door of the vault.
Or my confession could be because I’m “under the influence.” Clark’s sweatshirt smells so much like him, it’s as if I can’t help but dream about our future together as more than friends.
Yes, I’m probably also wildly over-caffeinated at this point and thus delusional. I blame the two cups of coffee from home, followed by a latte chaser.
Jess leans in, “Guys have ‘Bro code,’ but we have ‘Sister secrets.’”
The three of them make lip-locking motions.
I tuck my chin. “Is that a thing?”
Ella nods solemnly.
“But I’m not a WAG.” I swish my mouth to the side.
Jess says, “You’re an honorary member of the Knights family.”
Ella says, “The town gossip you have to watch out for is Mrs. Gormely.”
“And Sophia Snodgrass-Schuster,” Whit adds.
Jess whispers, “And sometimes Nancy Linderberg, but Juniper mostly set her straight.”
Taking a deep breath, I prepare my diary pages—obviously, I don’t have it with me, but this is what it would say.
“Clark and I met during our senior year of high school. I’d just moved to Oregon with my family.
I was the awkward new girl trying to figure out where I fit.
Then one day, I found a lost golden retriever wandering near the woods by my house.
He didn’t have a collar or tags, but based on how happy and well-groomed the dog was, he clearly had a home. ”
The girls gather closer, eager to hear more.
“I spent two hours trying to find the owner, calling every vet and shelter in the area. Finally, a guy comes jogging around the corner, absolutely panicked, calling for ‘Gordie.’ And there was Clark …” Without my permission, a soft sigh escapes.
Ella and Jess exchange knowing smiles.
“He was handsome, athletic, and panicked. He swept that dog into his arms like it was his child, and then he looked at me with big, green, grateful eyes. Eyes that remind me of springtime and possibilities.
“That’s so sweet,” Ella coos in an air of romance.
“We became friends after that. Fast friends. The kind where you just click, you know? We had the same lunch period, so we started eating together. He’d wait for me after my last class so we could walk to his hockey practice together.
I’d sit in the stands and do homework while he skated, and then we’d grab food afterward. ”
“Sounds pretty couple-y to me,” Whit observes.
“That’s what I thought, too. I had this whole fantasy built up in my head.
I thought maybe he’d ask me to prom.” I shake my head at my younger self’s optimism.
“Then his friend Whitaker Finch invited me instead. I wanted to say no—but new girl, remember—so I waited to see if Clark would ask. I waited and waited. I didn’t want to be rude and … ”
“And …” they chorus.
“This is the part that’s the opposite of, ‘And the high school sweethearts lived happily ever after.’ More like happily ever never.”
“What happened?” Jess asks gently.
“I was waiting for Clark after practice one day, trying to figure out how to bring up prom without being weird about it. I heard him and Whitaker talking in the locker room. The door was cracked open, and Whitaker said something like, ‘Dude, are you sure it’s okay that I asked April to prom?’ And Clark just laughed and said, ‘Nah, man, go for it. She’s like a little sister to me. ’”
The silence that follows is heavy with sisterly sympathy.
“He didn’t correct him,” I continue. “Didn’t hesitate. Just ... little sister. So I went to prom with Whitaker, had a fine time, and accepted my role in Clark’s life.”
The friend. The sister. The girl who walks his dogs, keeps his life organized, and will never, ever be anything more.
“April—” Ella starts.
“It’s fine,” I cut her off, forcing brightness into my voice. “Really. I’m grateful for our friendship. He’s achieved his dreams against all odds—made it to the NHL, plays for the Knights, and gets to do what he loves. He keeps me moving toward my own North Star. That’s enough.”
“Is it, though?” Whit asks quietly.
Before I can answer—or more likely, deflect attention away from the puck-sized disappointment that lodged itself in my chest—Scout starts barking at something, and all the dogs converge on whatever he found.
Probably a particularly interesting stick or possibly a deceased rodent.
Either way, it’s time for an intervention.
We spend another twenty minutes at the makeshift dog park, watching our fur babies play and cause chaos. By the time I’m ready to leave, all three of Clark’s dogs look like they’ve been participating in a mud-wrestling competition.
“This is going to be fun to clean up,” I mutter, clipping their leashes back on.
We say goodbye and I feel exposed now that Whit, Ella, and Jess know the truth about my feelings for Clark. I trust them—they have no reason to tell him what I confessed. In fact, I didn’t quite come out and declare that my crush on him endures like an eternal flame.
I know, I know. I’m so dramatic I qualify for a silver screen award, but still. I just have to get over him. A gust of wind stirs up his scent as I gather the neckline of his hoodie around me.
Giving my head a shake, I tell myself that I am immune to his scent. His charm. His good looks. Mostly. Maybe just temporarily compromised.