Chapter 21 April
APRIL
I should’ve known Easter at the Culpeppers’ would be a delicious yet dangerous prospect, what with the whole fake dating arrangement.
Not physically dangerous—although the amount of food Cheryl prepared could qualify as a health hazard if consumed in one sitting—but emotionally dangerous.
The kind that dredges up decade-old secrets and throws them around the dining room like those little firework bang snaps—the twins are in the driveway popping them off the cement as we speak.
So much for jellybeans in their Easter eggs.
But the second Claudia blurted that Clark had a crush on me, time and space did a weird slow-motion thing where they slowed down so much I could audibly hear my hammering pulse, feel the texture of the floor runner under my feet, and watch Clark’s face go from confused to horrified.
“Claudia,” he says, his voice tight.
But she’s not done. Ten years of something—anger? Hurt? Protectiveness?—spills out. “Whitaker called dibs on April. Clark, being the good friend that he is, stepped back even though he was clearly miserable about it.”
I turn to look at Clark, my brain struggling to process. “You had a crush on me?”
His face has gone red. “I—that was—high school was—”
“Did you have a crush on me in high school?” I ask.
Mr. Culpepper clears his throat. “Maybe we should—”
I don’t take my eyes off Clark. “Did you?”
Before he can answer, an audience has formed.
Cheryl has her hand over her mouth. Mr. Culpepper looks torn between amusement and concern.
The twins are grinning like this is the best entertainment they’ve had all year.
Various neighbors and relatives have suddenly become very interested in our conversation.
“Yes,” Clark finally admits, his voice barely above a whisper. “Yes. I had a crush on you, April. A huge, embarrassing, all-consuming crush that made me act like an idiot.”
“But you said I was like a sister!”
“I never said that. Whitaker said it and I didn’t correct him because I was scared and stupid and—”
“And I had a crush on you, too!” The words escape before I can stop them.
Everyone starts chattering, claiming they knew it all along.
My hand flies to my mouth. Clark stares at me with eyes so wide I can see the amber flecks mixed with the green. Everyone else is either laughing or applauding or doing both.
But they fade away. The chatter becomes white noise. Their presence becomes pencil sketches. It’s just him and me and this massive, life-altering revelation hanging between us.
Scooching closer, he says, “You had a crush on me?”
“Yes,” I whisper. “The whole time. I waited for you to ask me to prom. When you didn’t, I thought—”
“I thought you didn’t feel the same way.”
I echo, “I thought you didn’t feel the same way.”
Claudia groans. “You two are the worst.”
Cheryl is crying happy tears. Mr. Culpepper is shaking his head with a bemused smile. Whitaker looks thoroughly pleased with himself for stirring the pot, though Claudia shoots him a look that could melt steel.
And Clark and I are still just staring at each other, years of misunderstanding crashing down around us like dominoes.
“And now—?” I whisper.
But whatever I was going to say is cut off by Aunt Louise’s delighted shriek. “I’m posting this to my social media!”
“No!” the entire room shouts in unison.
The moment cracks like an egg into pandemonium.
Aunt Louise is arguing about social media freedom.
Cheryl is confiscating her phone. Mr. Culpepper is trying to restore order.
The dogs decide this is the moment to play a game of chase.
Claudia continues to glare at Whitaker. The twins are on their phones.
The ladies from the neighborhood are speaking in murmurs.
And Clark and I still haven’t moved.
Because everything just changed.
The rest of the evening passes in a blur.
Dessert resumes. At one point, Clark pulls Whitaker aside.
Tension spikes between them. The guests say their goodbyes.
Clark and I help clean up in near silence, moving around each other with a blend of familiarity and caution as an entirely new undercurrent of awareness spreads like food dye in Easter egg vinegar.
Every time his hand brushes mine while drying dishes, I feel a jolt of electricity.
Every time our eyes meet, something sparks between us that I can’t quite name.
He and I are about to walk the dogs when we find Claudia chasing Whitaker with a spatula. Over his shoulder, he hollers, “I asked April to the prom to make you jealous.”
“Kelly Morrison was right about you,” Claudia shouts back.
“She just thought my brother was a jerk.”
“Because she didn’t like the last name Finch.”
Whitaker retorts, “My mother happens to wear the name Mrs. Finch rather well.”
Clark shakes his head slowly. “I did not see that coming.”
“That your sister and Whitaker hate each other?”
“Or love each other.”
We walk the dogs and Clark tells me that he briefly talked to Whitaker about his public image management while I was occupied with trying to get Cheryl to share her spinach and bacon dip recipe with me.
I anticipate Clark mentioning high school, but he describes how unhappy he’s been with his friend’s ideas for his career, the random dates, the parties, and the clubs.
“It’s not me, not who I am or who I want to be.”
“And you told him you want—?”
“To go in a different direction.” He scratches his temple. “A more wholesome image. Someone kids who love hockey can look up to.”
“So is our fake dating contract null and void?” I ask, pulse accelerating.
He shakes his head slowly. “No, I’m keeping my current commitments, but less Posh. More April. No, make that no Posh. No random dates, no late-night parties. None of that nonsense. It’s not me. I like long walks with the dogs, candlelight dinners ... Legos.”
I tip my head back with laughter.
By the time we return, the house is relatively empty, and I’m exhausted. Emotionally wrung out. My brain feels like it’s been pickled in vinegar with the rest of the colorful eggs in the basket on the now cleared dining room table.
I go to bed and instantly fall asleep. But it’s restless as I think about a boy who was daydreaming about me while I was fantasizing about him, the two of us growing up and not finding a way to tell each other how we really feel.
The next morning, I’m up at dawn. The dogs are already rousing, ready for breakfast, morning playtime, and yes, another walk. Clark must’ve already gotten up because he’s not on the lower bunk.
I want to sleep for five more minutes. No, five more years, but I get up because I’m a guest and have to be mature—I can’t hide from life even though I still prefer to drink out of a juice box.
I find him in the kitchen, sitting at the table alone, gazing out the window into the backyard as buttery morning light filters through the tall trees surrounding the rear edge of the property.
He takes a long, lazy look at me as if I’m making a debut of some sort. Then, like the theater curtain is lifted and he just now remembers his lines, he splutters, “Good morning, sunshine. I made sure there was coffee waiting for you when you got up. How’d you sleep?”
I shrug a shoulder, keeping it real. “Meh.”
Relaxing slightly, he says, “Yeah. Me too.”
Even though I feel anything but normal, I’d like to skip to our regularly scheduled programming, so I say, “Want to take the dogs for a you-know-what?”
“I was hoping you’d say that.” He exhales as if relieved that not only am I still here and didn’t run away, but I’m not being dramatic about what Claudia said.
We walk in silence for the first few minutes, letting the dogs lead the way.
Moose immediately finds a stick that’s basically a log, while Lulu copies him, only the branch she finds is twice her size, but she insists on dragging it.
Purdy prances beside me, her anxiety from the shelter a distant memory.
Scout and Buster engage in their usual sniffing competition.
“So,” Clark finally says, breaking the silence. “That happened.”
“That definitely happened.”
“I’m sorry about Claudia. She shouldn’t have—”
“Don’t apologize. I’m glad she said something. We’ve wasted ten years keeping secrets.”
Clark adjusts the Knights’ hat on his head. “I wanted to tell you so many times. But I was worried. What if you didn’t feel the same? What if I ruined our friendship? What if—?”
“What if we were both too scared to take the risk?”
In his eyes, I see a decade’s worth of desire reflected back. The longing. The fear. The hope.
“April, I need you to know something.” His voice is serious, steady. “All of this—the fake dating, the campaign, the rules we made—it stopped being fake for me a long time ago. Maybe it never was at all.”
My breath catches. “Clark—”
“I know we said no falling in love. I know we’re supposed to go back to being friends when this is over. But I can’t.” He steps closer, and my pulse starts doing jumping jacks. Forget the crisp morning, the blood is really pumping now. “I don’t want to go back to being just friends. I want—”
“Me too,” I whisper. “Whatever you’re about to say, me too.”
The words hang between us for a heartbeat. Two. Three.
Then the spring breeze kicks up, blowing my hair into my face. Before I can push it away, Clark reaches up and gently tucks the curls behind my ear. His fingers linger on my cheek.
The sun glints in my eyes and I squint.
He takes off the Knights’ baseball cap and settles it on my head. It’s warm yet too big, sliding down slightly, and he adjusts it with a small smile. “There. Perfect.”
I’m drowning in his scent—evergreen and home and Clark.
“Thank you,” I manage.
Desire sparks as his gaze drops to my lips. I’m close enough to feel heat radiating from him. Close enough to count the freckles I’ve memorized over ten years of friendship.
“April,” he says, and my name sounds different in his voice now. Like a question and an answer all at once.
“Yes?”
“I’m going to kiss you now. Not for practice. Not for the cameras. Not for the campaign. Just for us. Is that okay?”
The buffalo don’t ask permission to stampede. It’s a fluttery free-for-all. “More than okay.”
He cups my face in both hands, and this time there’s no audience. No photographer. No staged moment for social media. Just us and the rising sun and ten years of waiting.
When his lips meet mine, it’s nothing like the kiss cam or the charity event. This is deeper. Slower. Real in a way that makes my knees weak and my soul sing. His thumb strokes my cheek as he kisses me like he’s been waiting his entire life for this moment.
I grip his jacket to keep from floating away, and he makes a happy half-sigh, half-laugh against my mouth that makes me dizzy.
When we finally break apart, we’re both breathing hard. His forehead rests against mine, and we stand in the middle of the walking path, dogs milling around our feet, while the world continues spinning, yet everything has changed.
“Wow,” I whisper.
“Yeah.” His voice is rough, wonder-filled. “That was—”
“Real.”
“So real.”
We both start laughing then, giddy and relieved and maybe a little bit punch drunk. The dogs take this as their cue to start their own celebration, tangling their leashes around our legs until we’re forced to separate just to unravel ourselves.
“They have terrible timing,” Clark observes, wrestling with Moose’s leash.
“Or perfect timing. Depends on how you look at it.” I free myself from Scout’s enthusiastic circling. “Before this gets any more complicated.”
“Too late for that.” But he’s grinning, and I’m grinning, and we’re both finally on the same page after a decade of missed signals, misunderstanding, and secret pining.
We continue walking, but now, Clark’s hand finds mine and holds tight as if to promise never to let go.
“So what now?” I ask as we loop back toward his parents’ house.
“Now we figure out how to be us. The real us. Not the fake dating version.”
“That could be complicated. We have rules.”
“We can break the rules.” He squeezes my hand.
Have we already broken rule six? No falling in love. Right, I shattered that one years ago.
“What about rule seven? Going back to being friends no matter what?”
Clark stops walking, tugging me to a halt beside him. “What if we don’t go back? What if we go forward instead?”
“Forward,” I repeat, testing the word. “As in, actually dating? For real this time?”
“For real this time.” He lifts our joined hands, pressing a kiss to my knuckles. “If you want to.”
Do I want to? I’ve wanted this for so long. Dreamed about it. Imagined every possible scenario. And now it’s here, real and terrifying and perfect.
“I want to,” I say. “But Clark, what about after the campaign ends? What about—?”
“We figure it out. Together.” His certainty is absolute. “April, I’ve spent ten years pretending to be okay with just friendship. I’m done pretending. I want the real thing. I want you.”
The buffalo in my stomach grow wings and take flight. One looks back over its shoulder and winks at me.
“Okay,” I whisper. “Let’s do it for real.”
His smile could be seen all the way in Cobbiton. “Yeah?”
“Yes.”
He kisses me again, shorter this time but no less sweet. When we break apart, all five dogs are sitting in a perfect semicircle, watching us like they’ve been waiting for this moment as long as we have.
“Even the dogs approve,” I laugh.
“The dogs are smart. They’ve known all along.”
We walk back to the house hand in hand, and I’m acutely aware that everything has shifted. The foundation is the same—ten years of friendship, inside jokes, shared history—but we’re building something new on top of it. Something real.