Something unreadable flickers across his face or maybe I imagine it.
We’re both quiet, so maybe he remembered that he’ll take a gorgeous and tall woman who has the potential to become more than a friend out to dinner … and what happens after that, I’ve never asked. All I know is he’s never taken anyone on a second date.
He puts a bandage on my arm and steps back. “Dr. Culpepper says take two cookies and call me in the morning.”
Just then, I hear a yelp from behind his bedroom door.
“Oh!” He snaps his fingers. “When you were coming back, I’d forgotten something in my car and then in the hall, I almost forgot … well, come see.”
“You’d forget your head if it weren’t attached.”
“Har har.”
But it’s true, Clark is a bit flaky.
He leads me toward his bedroom and I pause at the threshold, never having crossed it before. He keeps the door shut, just like we do on the topic of our respective dating lives—not that I have one.
I’ve been in this apartment hundreds of times over the past year. I know where he keeps the dog food (pantry, on the left). I know his keys are (supposed to be) on the hook in the hall. I know the couch has a permanent April-shaped indent on the middle cushion.
The buffalo in my stomach wake up all lazy-like. Yes, ladies, I’m also wondering why he wants to show me something in his room.
I’ve imagined it as a love lair, a man cave, a den with stinky socks on the floor—all of the above.
However, I cannot fathom what he wants to show me inthere.
6
APRIL
Clark openshis 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 saysNap Queenin 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 theNap Queenpillow 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.’”
