Never again.
EPILOGUE: CLARK
June
The Stanley Cup sits in the back of my Jeep, secure, but I’d be lying if I denied that I feel like I’m making a getaway with stolen goods—its chaperone follows me in a sleek sedan to protect the trophy and ensure that it’s handled properly. Yet we won it fair and square and today is my day to spend with it.
The Nebraska Knights are Stanley Cup Champions. I can practically still feel the confetti raining down from the arena ceiling. Glimpse Coach Badaszek’s rare smile. The entire team dog-piling on the ice. The weight of the Cup in my hands as I lifted it over my head while the crowd roared.
But that’s not why I’m grinning as I navigate through Cobbiton’s morning traffic.
I’m grinning because today is The Barkery’s grand opening, and I’m about to ask April Hansen to marry me.
“Ready?” I ask Moose, who’s riding shotgun. He tilts his massive head and pants in what I choose to interpret as an affirmative.
I bought the engagement ring the day after we gotback from Kansas City, right after we stopped being Dumb and Dumber (these are April’s words after I made her watch the movie by the same name), then admitted that we loved each other. It’s elegant with a center stone surrounded by smaller diamonds, delicate but substantial. Like April herself.
Also, it’s huge. I think her mother would approve.
I stop to pick up balloons—adding yet more chaos to the interior of the Jeep. My phone buzzes with a text from my oldest friend, but not my best friend—April holds that title, along with beloved, floof wrangler, girlfriend, hopefully soon to be fiancée, and the one woman in the world who can make me splooch inside.
Whitaker: Are you nervous?
Me: As nervous as that dream I used to have about showing up to school with my underwear on the outside of my pants.
Whitaker: Good. That means you’re not completely stupid. You got the ring?
Me: In my pocket. Along with backup plans B through F.
Whitaker: What’s plan F?
Me: Wing it and hope the dogs distract everyone if I mess up.
Whitaker: Solid strategy. See you there.
After I get back on the road, I pull up to The Barkery—our Barkery, since I invested as a full business partner last month, so April could expand it to include not only the bakery and training center, but the “Paw Spa,” an extension for doggygrooming when an adjacent space opened. My chest swells with pride. The storefront is transformed with more silver and lavender balloons, a massiveGRAND OPENINGbanner, and what looks like half of Cobbiton already gathering on Main Street.
The entire Knights team helped with the industrial-chic, dog-friendly build-out, supervised by Mikey’s family’s crew, just like they did for Fletch and Bree’s Victorian house and Juniper’s salon. Even Whitaker showed up to help paint.
It’s more than a building now. It’s a community project. A labor of love.
Inside, April is probably overthinking, organizing things that don’t need organizing, checking lists she’s already checked three times. She’s been up since five a.m., too nervous and excited to sleep—I only know this because she showed up at my place to walk the dogs at dawn, even though I assured her I’d do it.
I let myself in through the back entrance, and sure enough, I find her in the training area, adjusting agility equipment that’s already perfectly positioned for the demonstration later.
“Hello,” I say softly.
She spins around, and even stressed and nervous, she’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. Her curls are tucked behind her ears, she’s wearing a sundress and sneakers, and her eyes are as big and bright as ever.
“Clark! I thought you were bringing the Stanley Cup?”
“It’s in the Jeep and under heavy guard.”
“The dogs?”
They troop in as I pull her into my arms. “How are you doing?”
“So excited, I might barf.”
