26. April #2
We grab coffee from the hotel lobby and drive to a nearby dog park in silence. The morning is cool and overcast, matching the tension between us.
At the park, we let the dogs off their leashes in an enclosed area. They immediately scatter—Moose chasing Scout, Buster investigating every smell, Purdy and Lulu playing tug-of-war with a stick.
Clark and I stand side by side at the fence, watching them, both clutching our coffees like lifelines.
“I heard your conversation with your mom,” he says finally.
My stomach clenches because I don’t think this is going to end well, but I faced my parents. I have to be mature about this. “I figured.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop.”
“It’s okay.” I take a sip of coffee, buying time. “I needed to say those things. Should have said them years ago.”
“You were brave.”
“I was terrified.”
“That’s what makes it brave.”
We fall silent again, watching Lulu successfully steal the stick from Purdy and immediately offer it back like a gift.
“April,” Clark says, and something in his voice makes me turn to face him. “You said you love me.”
My heart stops. April Sarah Hansen: Time of death: now. “I—”
“You told your mom you love me,” he repeats. “Present tense.”
There’s no point denying it. No point pretending anymore.
“I did. I do.” I force myself to meet his eyes. “I love you, Clark. I’ve probably loved you since the day I found Gordie. I still love you even if you just want to be friends.”
He’s quiet for a long moment, and I brace myself for the letdown. For the “I care about you, but ...” speech.
When his gaze searches mine and he still doesn’t say anything, I opt to tear off the bandage. “I heard you on the phone with Whitaker. You said you can’t wait for this to be over.”
His jaw drops. “You think I meant us?”
“Didn’t you?”
“No!” The word bursts out. “I meant the pressure. The campaign. The scrutiny. Watching you pull away because—”
“Because I’m not cut out for your world.” My voice cracks. “Because I’m not NHL girlfriend material. That you want out.”
Clark stares at me like I have popcorn for brains. “Are you serious?”
“What?”
“April, I love you. I’m completely, hopelessly, stupidly in love with you.
How could you think—?” He adjusts his ball cap, frustrated.
“I was pulling back because I thought I wasn’t enough for you.
That your parents were right about me. That the spotlight and the travel and all the complications of dating a hockey player were going to make you miserable. The stress has gone to my head and—”
“You love me?”
“Yes! Of course, I love you! I’ve loved you for ten years!
I want to love you for a hundred more.” He sets down his coffee and takes my face in his hands.
“April, you’re not ‘not NHL girlfriend material.’ You’re the only person I want.
The only person I’ve ever wanted. I was just trying to protect you from all the hard parts of my life as I thought you were pulling back. ”
“I thought you were pushing me away.”
“Apparently, we didn’t learn from our first instance of not communicating.”
“We’re both idiots.” I laugh despite the tears streaming down my face.
With the pads of his thumbs, he wipes them away. “Completely.”
“We wasted a whole week being miserable.”
“Never again. April, I’m terrified. Of the spotlight hurting you. Of your family being right about me. Of screwing this up somehow.”
“I’m terrified too,” I admit. “Of failing. Of not being enough. Of losing you.”
“So we’re both scared.”
“Completely afraid.”
“Want to be afraid together?”
“More than anything.”
“Then that means we can also be brave together.”
We both laugh and then he kisses me right there in the dog park with Kansas City’s skyline in the distance and five dogs barking their approval.
It’s not our first kiss, not even our tenth, but it feels like the most important one.
Because this time, we’re choosing each other.
Not because of a campaign or fake dating or any other excuse. But because we love each other.
When we finally break apart, we’re both grinning like fools. Fools in love.
“I love you,” I say again, because I can. Because it’s true. Because I’m done hiding it.
“I love you too.” He kisses my forehead, my nose, my lips again. “So much it’s ridiculous.”
“We should probably go back to the hotel,” I say reluctantly. “The adoption event starts soon.”
“Right. The event.” He grins. “Ready to be a real couple in public?”
“I’m ready for anything as long as you’re there.”
“That’s good. Because I’m never leaving.”
The Love at First Wag adoption event is outstanding. The venue is packed with families, volunteers in matching t-shirts, and dozens of dogs waiting for their forever homes.
But this time, everything is different.
Clark and I aren’t performing for cameras. We’re just us. Holding hands because we want to. Stealing kisses between photo ops. Laughing at the puppies trying to climb out of their pens.
The photographers capture it all, and these photos—I can tell even without seeing them—will be better than any we’ve taken before.
Because the joy is real.
By the end of the event, fifteen dogs have found homes, including a bonded pair of senior dogs that remind me of Clark and I—different on the surface but clearly meant to be together.
Sandra, our campaign coordinator, is practically glowing. “This was incredible! The engagement numbers, the adoption rate—this might be our most successful campaign ever!”
“We’re glad we could help,” I say, leaning into Clark’s side.
He drops a kiss on top of my head, casual and comfortable. “It was our pleasure.”
After the event, as we’re loading the dogs into the Jeep for the long drive back to Cobbiton, Clark says, “I have a surprise for you.”
“What kind of surprise?”
“You’ll see at The Barkery grand opening.”
“Clark—”
“Trust me, girlfriend?”
I look at him—at the man who I met ten years ago, who became my best friend, and who fell in love with me while I fell in love with him.
“Always, boyfriend,” I say.
The next weeks pass in a blur of construction, planning, and stolen moments.
The Knights win three of their four playoff games, and I’m in the stands, wearing Clark’s number with pride.
The WAGs have fully adopted me as one of their own, and even Sophia Snodgrass-Schuster stops by the retail site to check on progress.
My parents call the following week, as promised. The conversation is stilted and awkward, but they’re trying. Mom asks questions about The Barkery instead of criticizing. Dad actually sounds impressed when I explain the business model.
It’s not perfect. But it’s progress.
And progress is enough because now, Clark and I have each other. And five dogs. And a whole town of people who support us.
Tomorrow is arguably the biggest game of his life, the Knights’ final chance at the Stanley Cup, so tonight is a quiet night in.
We had dinner, walked the dogs, and now, we’re playing a board game his parents sent for his birthday.
I wanted to do something special like have a surprise party, but with the game schedule, it would’ve been too much.
Instead, he said he just wanted to be home, with me and the pack—and a birthday cake.
I attempted to make it myself. We’ll see how he likes it after I sing “Happy Birthday” and he blows out the candles.
I dim the lights and the dogs gather around, knowing something special is about to happen. I sing, slightly off key, and the dogs bark along, a cacophonous chorus. We’re both laughing, trying to get them to quiet down. Then I tell him to make a wish.
He shakes his head. “Don’t need to.”
“But it’s a birthday tradition.”
He draws me into his lap. “I have everything I want, everything I could wish for.”
We nuzzle and kiss, forgetting about the cake.
Eventually, he does have a small slice and approves—it’s peanut butter with strawberry frosting because I didn’t want him to associate those flavors with stress or sadness anymore.
Plus, it’s dog-friendly in small quantities. What can I say, they’re spoiled.
Later, we lounge on the couch and the pooches snuggle up with us. “What are you thinking about?” Clark asks, wrapping me in his arms.
“That I’m really glad you adopted a dog that got lost ten years ago.”
He laughs. “Gordie. My wingman.”
“The best wingman.”
I reach for a gift bag that I hid behind the cushion—it’s a bit squished thanks to Moose. “I have something else for you. Happy birthday,” I say, handing it to him.
He opens it and laughs. Inside is a custom Knights jersey with paw prints on it from all the doggos. “They’re lucky that you’re their forever family.”
“Our forever family.” He sets down the bag and kisses me.
The next day, I’m back at Clark’s to take care of the dogs before he heads to the Ice Palace for the final game. Spring is in full bloom. The blossoming flowers are bigger and brighter than ever. Everything that was dormant has come alive again.
Including Clark and me.
He pulls out his phone. “Let’s take a photo.”
“But we finished the campaign.”
“I know. But I want to remember this moment.” He pulls me close, and we smile at his camera.
He posts it to social media with a simple caption. True love. #LoveAtFirstWag #FureverFamily
The comments and likes start rolling in immediately, but I don’t care about any of that.
I only care about the man standing beside me.
Ten years ago, I found a lost dog and met my best friend.
Now, I found my home.
And it’s not a place. It’s not a building.
It’s him. It’s us.
“Hey, Clark?” I say, leaning my head against his shoulder.
“Yeah?”
“I love you.”
“I love you too.” He kisses the top of my head. “Forever and ever. No take-backs.”
“No take-backs,” I agree.
And I know with absolute certainty that this—this messy, beautiful, dog-filled life—is exactly where I’m meant to be.
Not fake.
Not anymore.
Never again.