Chapter 6 April
APRIL
Clark opens his bedroom door and steps aside, gesturing me in with an oddly uncertain expression.
I walk in and freeze, intoxicated by his scent and proximity.
The space is masculine with dark gray walls, exposed brick since we’re in an old mill, and framed hockey jerseys from his career mounted like artwork—all gifts from me. A weight bench occupies the corner and a massive flat-screen TV mounts on the wall opposite the king-sized bed.
However, I did not expect throw pillows.
My jaw lowers. “You have nine hundred throw pillows.”
He waves his hand dismissively. “Pfft. Six, maybe seven.”
“You’ve caused a worldwide shortage.”
“They’re comfortable!”
I start laughing as I mentally catalogue the vast array of fluffy bedding accessories.
There is a navy velvet pillow and a knitted gray one.
Another with little embroidered hockey pucks.
A fuzzy cream one that looks like a cloud.
And right in the center, a decorative pillow that says Nap Queen in elegant script.
I pick it up. “Clark, why do you have this?” The belated notion that it might have been intended for a woman in his life makes me suddenly chilly.
His ears turn red. “I thought it said ‘Nap King’ when I bought it online, but I must’ve clicked the wrong option. I thought it was funny and then I was going to give it to you, but Moose slobbered all over it. Whenever I see it, I chuckle.”
“I don’t mind Moose slobber.”
“Then it’s all yours.”
I’m full-on cackling, hugging the Nap Queen pillow to my chest. “Where did you get all of these?” I manage.
“A couple of them came free with the comforter set.” He points. “That one was from my mom. Claudia made me buy that one at a craft fair back home because she said my apartment looked ‘too bachelor pad’ and I needed ‘to up the cozy factor.’”
There is no reason for me to overthink this, as I am wont to do. The explanation is simple. Of course, Mrs. Culpepper and Claudia, his sister, would want to add a feminine touch to his space.
“Your room is so ...” I gesture around, taking in the contrast. “It’s like a sports bar and a comfy reading nook had a baby.”
He swallows. “I don’t know if that’s a compliment or an insult.”
“It’s just so you.” The words slip out before I can stop them and I smile so he knows that I like him—as a friend. Duh. Sheesh.
Clark’s expression softens.
Then, there, among the pillows, I spot movement. Gasping, I ask, “Is one of the throw pillows alive?”
“Purdy?” he calls softly. “Where’d you go, sweet girl?”
A tiny whimper comes from the bed.
I carefully move aside the mountain of pillows—seriously, he might have a problem—and there, curled into the smallest possible ball between a fuzzy brown pillow and a dark one, is the tiniest, most terrified Shih Tzu I’ve ever seen.
“Oh,” I breathe. “Oh, Clark.”
All my teasing evaporates. She’s shaking, her dark eyes are huge and frightened, and my heart immediately breaks and melts and leaps all at the same time.
I sit on the edge of the bed—Clark’s bed, my brain helpfully supplies—moving slowly and cautiously. Purdy tracks me, but she doesn’t bolt.
“Hey, sweet baby,” I murmur in my softest voice. “It’s okay. You’re safe now. I know you’re scared, but you’re going to be okay.”
Leaving this part to me, Clark leans against the doorframe all manly-like. I tell those lady buffalo in my belly that now is not the time!
“What’s her story?” I ask quietly, still focused on Purdy.
“She was at the Love at First Wag pop up adoption event at the arena today. They told me she’s been passed over ten times because she’s too scared. The volunteers said she just hides in the back of her kennel, shaking.”
“So naturally you adopted her.”
“I couldn’t just leave her there.”
Of course, he couldn’t. This is prime Clark—a guy who sees the scared and shy ones, makes friends with them, and shows them he cares. He also befriends the zany, the overzealous and the overthinkers. That would be me.
When it comes to dogs, Clark has the biggest heart in the world. Mine becomes an even bigger lava pit of hot, melting flares. At this rate, I’ll soon be little more than ash.
However, this is reason seven hundred and one on the list of why I love him.
Not only because he’s handsome and successful and good at hockey.
He also has a great sense of humor, is smart, and is an amazing cook.
But also because he saw a scared dog that nobody wanted and decided she was worth taking home.
“I figured we needed another girl in this house.” He strokes her paw with his forefinger.
She nuzzles her tiny snout into the crook of my elbow like she’s trying to burrow inside.
“Can you help me introduce her to the others? I don’t want her to be more scared.”
“I’m your girl.” Then what he said about having another girl in the house catches up to me.
For a heartbeat, I think he means in addition to me, but I have an internal record scratch moment because surely he means that whoever he’s dating probably likes little dogs rather than what we affectionately call the “Bacon Boy Mongrels”—they go bonkers for the stuff.
All the same, I cannot say no to Clark or this sweet lil pupper.
I lose track of time as we carefully let Purdy sniff the other dogs from the safety of Clark’s arms. Moose, bless him, seems to understand that she needs gentleness.
He approaches slowly, lets her sniff his enormous nose, and then settles down on the floor like he’s trying to make himself a hill rather than a mountain.
Scout is more enthusiastic but takes my corrections well, backing off when I signal. And Buster just waddles over, sniffs once, and promptly falls asleep at Clark’s feet like this is all very routine.
We both sit on the floor and eventually, Clark sets Purdy down.
Tail lowered, she makes her way over to me and tries to get into my lap.
I use a soft voice and stroke her gently, like her mom would lick her to soothe her.
Eventually, Purdy stops shaking. Clark shifts closer to me and strokes her head.
“We’re making progress,” he says.
She licks my chin, which makes both of us light up like kids on Christmas morning, which is a subject we’ve discussed at length. My parents were in a rush for my sister Elise and me to grow up. While his parents prolonged the Culpepper siblings’ childhoods for as long as appropriate.
“I think she likes you,” he says with wonder in his voice. “Then again, everyone likes you.”
I glance at him and quickly away. If only that were true. No, not everyone likes me. At least not like that.
Clark’s phone beeps and he checks his messages. “Shoot. I need to scoot.”
I lift my eyebrows because usually on Tuesdays we hang out longer than this.
“I have a meeting with Whitaker.”
“He’s in town?” I ask, referring to my prom date. Unfortunately, my voice squeaks—not because I carry feelings but because my brain decided to dredge up this specific old memory twice today.
Clark’s eyes darken briefly and then he arches an eyebrow. “I won’t let him step on the hem of your dress during the slow dance again.”
I toss a pretzel-shaped dog tug toy at him. “Not funny. He also had bad breath.”
He tosses the toy back, hitting my knee.
“Oof. Don’t tell him I said that.”
“I’m going to tell him that you’ve been writing Whitaker plus April forever and Mrs. Finch in your diary every night for ten years.”
My eyes widen. “I would never …” Write Mrs. Finch. More like Mrs. Culpepper.
He titters. “I’m going to call your sister and get her to crack.”
“Don’t you dare.” Elise is a high-powered attorney, but the right kind of pressure could get her to squeal.
He waggles his eyebrows.
I roll my eyes. “Clark, for the record, I only went with Whitaker to the prom because—”
His phone buzzes again and he pats his pockets, looking for his keys. “Have you seen my—?”
I point to the coffee table where they’re lost among magazines, water bottles, and a board game we didn’t finish the other night. “Your wallet is on the kitchen counter. Phone is in your pocket.”
His face splits into a grin. “What would I do without you?”
“Probably forget your own name,” I tease.
He’s halfway out the door when I remember something and call, “Don’t forget about the notice that came in the mail about your Jeep. Your registration is set to expire. And you have a date tonight.” I regret the second reminder, but I can’t bring myself to be that selfish.
“Right! On it. Thanks, April. You’re the best.”
And then he’s gone, taking all the oxygen in the room with him.
I sink onto the couch, and Moose immediately tries to climb into my lap. I don’t have the energy to stop him.
“I really, truly am pathetic,” I tell the dog. “Completely and utterly pathetic.”
Moose licks my face, which I choose to interpret as disagreement.
I pull out my phone and look at the info about the new dog walking client application. I should be excited like I was earlier. I should be thinking about The Barkery and my business proposal and all the things that are going right in my life.
Instead, I’m thinking about an evergreen-scented hoodie and the way Clark’s voice softens when he talks to scared rescue dogs. I’m thinking about that moment in the entryway when he caught me and we were close enough that I could feel his heartbeat.
I’m thinking about how I’m completely, hopelessly, foolishly in love with my best friend.
And how he’ll never see me as anything more than the girl who walks his dogs and keeps his life together.
I keep these feelings tucked away in a secret little pocket of my heart, where they’ve lived for ten years. Where they’ll remain because losing him entirely would be worse than never having had his friendship at all.