Chapter 13
APRIL
Clark and I kissed.
It was to “practice,” to be precise, but still, I am shellshocked. Not only are my palms clammy, but my entire body is a confused combination of hormones torn between excitement and nervousness. Does anyone else have a sweating issue? I’m afraid to ask out loud.
Gracie leans forward on the overstuffed armchair in Once Upon a Romance. “So let me get this straight. You’re fake-dating Clark Culpepper.”
I hold my forefinger in front of my lips. “Shh. Yes. We signed an NDA.” I reply with a firm nod, if only to ensure I believe it myself.
“Your best friend, Clark.”
I slowly nod. “Correct.”
“The man you’ve been in love with for a decade.”
The one who gets freckles and tan in the summer, who is muscly year-round, and whose hair flips out from under his ball cap in an irresistible way. Yes, that “friend.”
I bury my face in my hands. “When you say it like that, it sounds like a terrible idea.”
“That’s because it is a terrible idea.” Whit grins.
It’s Wednesday evening, and instead of our usual book club discussion about whatever romance novel we were supposed to read (all of us admit to almost but not quite finishing it), we’re gathered in Gracie’s bookstore, dissecting my fake relationship.
The Closed sign is flipped on the door and we’re surrounded by shelves of happily-ever-afters while I explain how I’ve agreed to what I rapidly realize is the most complicated situation of my life. One that can’t possibly result in an HEA.
“Okay, but hear me out,” Ella says, bouncing slightly in her seat. “This is literally a romance novel plot. Fake dating that turns into real dating? It’s a classic trope! I would know.”
“It’s not going to turn into real dating,” I protest.
“How can you be so sure?” she asks.
“We have rules.”
“Rules?” Jess perks up.
Heidi arches an eyebrow. “What kind of rules?”
I pull out my phone and read from the picture I took of them after Clark and I wrote them down at his loft the other night. There is also a cute pic of us with Purdy. Aww. And one of us with Howie, that he sent me after I got home safely and we stayed up texting well past my bedtime.
Even though I walk his dogs nearly every day, I do have a big girl corporate job, but the hours are flexible and I can usually work remotely as long as I get the contract work completed. I have to pay the bills somehow.
They all peer over my shoulder.
“You two look perfect together,” Ella says.
Shrugging off her comment, I clear my throat. “Rule one: We tell each other the truth about everything. Rule two: No dating other people while fake dating each other—”
“Obviously,” Margo interjects.
“Rule three: Check in regularly. Rule four: We have a secret word.”
“A secret word?” Cara’s eyes widen in question.
“In case something is going wrong. It’s ‘Howie.’ Like the gnome.”
The girls dissolve into giggles, then discuss the photo he posted of us returning the ceramic figure.
“Rule five,” I continue over their laughter, “keep the dogs out of it. Rule six: No falling in love—”
“Too late for that,” Whit mutters.
“Rule seven: When it’s over, we go back to being friends no matter what. And rule eight: Have fun with it.”
Heidi shakes her head. “You made a fake dating contract with eight rules and one of them is literally ‘don’t fall in love.’”
“Yes.” I sit tall, all business-like.
“April, you’re already in love with him.”
“That’s not the point! We. Are. Friends.”
“That’s exactly the point,” Ella says. “In every fake dating book, the ‘no falling in love’ rule is the first one that gets broken if it isn’t already.”
“This isn’t fiction. This is real life.”
“Real life where you’re fake dating,” Gracie points out.
“Sounds an awful lot like a book to me,” Jess sing-songs.
My phone buzzes and I glance down to see a text from Clark.
Clark: Whitaker sent the schedule. The first event is an adoption meet and greet at the animal shelter on Saturday. Dress casual but cute.
Clark: Not that you need instructions to look cute. You always look cute.
Clark: That wasn’t weird, was it? That felt weird.
Clark: Don’t shoot the messenger. Those were the instructions Whitaker sent. See you Saturday.
I’m smiling at my phone like one of the characters the girls described when I realize they’ve gone silent.
“What?” I look up to find them all staring at me.
“You’re smiling,” Jess observes.
“I smile.”
“A dimple pop smile,” Whit adds.
Cara bobs her eyebrows. “That’s a ‘Clark just texted me’ smile.”
“I don’t have a special smile for when Clark texts me.” I frown.
“You absolutely do,” they chorus.
I grumble, then tell them about the adoption meet and greet.
Margo clasps her hands together. “That’s perfect! Low pressure, lots of dogs, familiar for both of you.”
“Right. Easy peasy.” I pause. “It’s not like we’ll be making out at an adoption event or anything.”
I open and close my mouth, wishing I had a net and could take that specific phrase back.
“Whoa,” Whit says slowly with a whistle. “That escalated quickly.”
My face heats. “I just meant—it’s a family-friendly setting, so there won’t be any—we’re not going to—”
“But you have thought about it?” Ella asks innocently.
“I haven’t.” But the lie is barely above a whisper.
Sure, the kiss cam was brief. Very PG. But then we had our practice kiss.
I am still shellshocked. But I’m not giving them more fodder.
They all stare at me as if they have a collective case of X-ray vision.
Clark and I have discussed superpowers at length and agree that X-ray vision would be more of a hindrance than a help when it comes to saving the world.
“Fine! Maybe I’ve thought about it. A little. Like once or twice. Or a million times.” I slump back in my chair. “The kiss cam kiss was ... it was ...”
“Good?” Gracie supplies.
I all but swoon. “His lips were so soft and he smelled like evergreen and for three seconds, I forgot we were in front of thousands of people. But that’s not the point! The point is, we have to keep things appropriate. Friendly.”
“Friendly fake boyfriend and girlfriend, which is a step up from friends.” Jess snaps her fingers. “Got it.”
Gracie leans forward in full romance book store owner mode.
“Fake dating in romance novels follows a pretty standard progression. You start with eye contact that produces butterflies. Next come the small touches—hand holding, standing close together. Then you graduate to more couple-y behavior—his arm around your shoulders, sitting close at restaurants. Eventually, you build up to the bigger displays of affection.”
“But we’re not following a fictional progression,” I protest … though this is fake. Also, I have buffalo, not butterflies. “Or just physical.”
“Aren’t you, though?” Cara grins. “The campaign runs through May, right? That’s basically a full romance novel timeline. Meet cute—which you had ten years ago, by the way—conflict, rising action—”
“I’ve taught you so well,” Gracie says proudly.
Face flaming, I wave my hands because I, too, know what comes next.
“The black moment. Then the resolution,” Cara says solemnly.
“We already had our black moment. It was called high school when he said I was like a sister to him.”
The girls make various sounds of sympathy.
“But maybe,” Gracie says softly, “this is your second chance. Your re-meet cute.”
We spend the next hour actually discussing the book—a second-chance romance. I try very hard not to make direct comparisons to my situation.
I fail dramatically.
When I get home, I can’t help but ruminate on every little thing. What the girls said. Clark’s texts.
I pick at the edge of the bandage Clark applied after I got tangled in the dog leashes the other day.
Then I start questioning the merits of a slow peel or just tearing it off—literally, as well as related to any and all conversations he and I have about our status.
I carefully remove the first half of the bandage and am glad to see the scratch is healed.
Then I rip the rest of it off, which results in a yelp.
Will that happen with Clark if I tell him the truth or will keeping it to myself mean continued agony?
Ugh. I am overthinking this to the max. Time to power down. I flop on the couch and immediately squeak—another dog toy Clark hid on April Fools’ Day.
No sooner am I comfortable and start my nightly scroll, my phone chimes with a text.
Clark: Also, Whitaker says the Howie photo was great and that we should start posting more couple content on social media. He wants to build the narrative or whatever. Want to take a picture with the dogs tomorrow? #LoveAtFirstWag
Me: Sure. Will you be home after their morning walk?
Clark: Yes. Also, thanks for doing this. I know it’s weird.
Me: I keep telling myself that weird is our normal.
I can imagine his eyes squinting with laughter.
Clark: See you soon.
If we were a real couple, he would’ve written more than See you soon. It’s been a while since I’ve been in a real relationship, but I’m pretty sure couples are a bit sweeter than that. Words like Kiss kiss, I love you, or even a heart emoji.
But that’s not the end of our texting. No, it continues for the next few hours, back and forth, banter, laughter, memes, and videos.
Clark: We should arrive together tomorrow.
Me: Makes sense.
I smile as I reply, but no sooner do I tap the arrow to send than worries bubble up. Yawning, I hesitate, but type my thoughts.
Me: What if I mess up?
Clark: You won’t mess up. You’re amazing with dogs and people and everything. It’s just like hanging out, except with cameras.
Me: Very reassuring.
Clark: That’s what I’m here for.
We message back and forth a bit more and then before I know it, I’m fast asleep.