She licks my chin, which makes both of us light up like kids on Christmas morning, which is a subject we’ve discussed at length. My parents were in a rush for my sister Elise and me to grow up. While his parents prolonged the Culpepper siblings’ childhoods for as long as appropriate.
“I think she likes you,” he says with wonder in his voice. “Then again, everyone likes you.”
I glance at him and quickly away. If only that were true. No, not everyone likes me. At least not likethat.
Clark’s phone beeps and he checks his messages. “Shoot. I need to scoot.”
I lift my eyebrows because usually on Tuesdays we hang out longer than this.
“I have a meeting with Whitaker.”
“He’s in town?” I ask, referring to my prom date. Unfortunately, my voice squeaks—not because I carry feelings but because my brain decided to dredge up this specific old memory twice today.
Clark’s eyes darken briefly and then he arches an eyebrow. “I won’t let him step on the hem of your dress during the slow dance again.”
I toss a pretzel-shaped dog tug toy at him. “Not funny. He also had bad breath.”
He tosses the toy back, hitting my knee.
“Oof. Don’t tell him I said that.”
“I’m going to tell him that you’ve been writingWhitaker plus April foreverandMrs. Finchin your diary every night for ten years.”
My eyes widen. “I would never …” WriteMrs. Finch. More likeMrs. Culpepper.
He titters. “I’m going to call your sister and get her to crack.”
“Don’t you dare.” Elise is a high-powered attorney, but the right kind of pressure could get her to squeal.
He waggles his eyebrows.
I roll my eyes. “Clark, for the record, I only went with Whitaker to the prom because?—”
His phone buzzes again and he pats his pockets, looking for his keys. “Have you seen my?—?”
I point to the coffee table where they’re lost among magazines, water bottles, and a board game we didn’t finish the other night. “Your wallet is on the kitchen counter. Phone is in your pocket.”
His face splits into a grin. “What would I do without you?”
“Probably forget your own name,” I tease.
He’s halfway out the door when I remember something and call, “Don’t forget about the notice that came in the mail about your Jeep. Your registration is set to expire. And you have a date tonight.” I regret the second reminder, but I can’t bring myself to be that selfish.
“Right! On it. Thanks, April. You’re the best.”
And then he’s gone, taking all the oxygen in the room with him.
I sink onto the couch, and Moose immediately tries to climb into my lap. I don’t have the energy to stop him.
“I really, truly am pathetic,” I tell the dog. “Completely and utterly pathetic.”
Moose licks my face, which I choose to interpret as disagreement.
I pull out my phone and look at the info about the new dog walking client application. I should be excited like I was earlier. I should be thinking about The Barkery and my business proposal and all the things that are going right in my life.
Instead, I’m thinking about an evergreen-scented hoodie and the way Clark’s voice softens when he talks to scaredrescue dogs. I’m thinking about that moment in the entryway when he caught me and we were close enough that I could feel his heartbeat.
I’m thinking about how I’m completely, hopelessly, foolishly in love with my best friend.
