“See you soon.” This is our way of saying goodbye without saying goodbye. I can’t remember which one of us started it, but I like to think it’s a promise to see each other again rather than the finality of farewell.
She’s halfway out the door when she turns back. “Clark?”
“Yeah?” I get to my feet and take a step toward her.
“Thanks for dinner and for believing in The Barkery.”
“Anytime.”
Then she’s gone. I’ve insisted on walking her to her car at night, but she refuses, so I just stand there. She’ll text me when she’s home safely. That’s our agreement.
Moose comes over and headbutts my leg.
“I know, buddy. I’m in trouble.”
Because rule six says no falling in love.
But I’m pretty sure I broke that rule about a decade ago.
13
APRIL
Clark and I kissed.
It was to “practice,” to be precise, but still, I am shellshocked. Not only are my palms clammy, but my entire body is a confused combination of hormones torn between excitement and nervousness. Does anyone else have a sweating issue? I’m afraid to ask out loud.
Gracie leans forward on the overstuffed armchair in Once Upon a Romance. “So let me get this straight. You’re fake-dating Clark Culpepper.”
I hold my forefinger in front of my lips. “Shh. Yes. We signed an NDA.” I reply with a firm nod, if only to ensure I believe it myself.
“Your best friend, Clark.”
I slowly nod. “Correct.”
“The man you’ve been in love with for a decade.”
The one who gets freckles and tan in the summer, who is muscly year-round, and whose hair flips out from under his ball cap in an irresistible way. Yes, that “friend.”
I bury my face in my hands. “When you say it like that, it sounds like a terrible idea.”
“That’s because it is a terrible idea.” Whit grins.
It’s Wednesday evening, and instead of our usual book club discussion about whatever romance novel we were supposed to read (all of us admit to almost but not quite finishing it), we’re gathered in Gracie’s bookstore, dissecting my fake relationship.
TheClosedsign is flipped on the door and we’re surrounded by shelves of happily-ever-afters while I explain how I’ve agreed to what I rapidly realize is the most complicated situation of my life. One that can’t possibly result in an HEA.
“Okay, but hear me out,” Ella says, bouncing slightly in her seat. “This is literally a romance novel plot. Fake dating that turns into real dating? It’s a classic trope! I would know.”
“It’s not going to turn into real dating,” I protest.
“How can you be so sure?” she asks.
“We have rules.”
“Rules?” Jess perks up.
Heidi arches an eyebrow. “What kind of rules?”
