Ugh. I am overthinking this to the max. Time to power down. I flop on the couch and immediately squeak—another dog toy Clark hid on April Fools’ Day.
No sooner am I comfortable and start my nightly scroll, my phone chimes with a text.
Clark: Also, Whitaker says the Howie photo was great and that we should start posting more couple content on social media. He wants to build the narrative or whatever. Want to take a picture with the dogs tomorrow? #LoveAtFirstWag
Me: Sure. Will you be home after their morning walk?
Clark: Yes. Also, thanks for doing this. I know it’s weird.
Me: I keep telling myself that weird is our normal.
I can imagine his eyes squinting with laughter.
Clark: See you soon.
If we were a real couple, he would’ve written more thanSee you soon. It’s been a while since I’ve been in a real relationship, but I’m pretty sure couples are a bit sweeter than that. Words likeKiss kiss,I love you, or even a heart emoji.
But that’s not the end of our texting. No, it continues for the next few hours, back and forth, banter, laughter, memes, and videos.
Clark: We should arrive together tomorrow.
Me: Makes sense.
I smile as I reply, but no sooner do I tap the arrow to send than worries bubble up. Yawning, I hesitate, but type my thoughts.
Me: What if I mess up?
Clark: You won’t mess up. You’re amazing with dogs and people and everything. It’s just like hanging out, except with cameras.
Me: Very reassuring.
Clark: That’s what I’m here for.
We message back and forth a bit more and then before I know it, I’m fast asleep.
The next fewdays breeze by with walking the dogs and doing the new client orientation—a handsome Schnauzer whose silver-haired dog dad used to work from home but now has to go into the office once a week. I also have to attend a meeting at the pet company headquarters, where I do contract work. Everyone is so nice there and asks about progress on the Barkery. Sadly, I don’t have much to report at the moment.
Clark picks me up Saturday morning in his Jeep. In my neighborhood, he very well could be leading a parade with all the attention it draws with its shiny paint and flashy rims.
Through the windshield, his eyes are serious—hard, like he’s facing down an opponent on the ice—but then when I get in the passenger seat, they land on me and his gaze instantly softens, almost twinkles.
“You look cute,” he says around an awkward cough.
I’m wearing jeans, a flowy lavender top, and my sneakers with the pawprints instead of the classic checkers. “I’ve worn this outfit a hundred times.”
“It’smy favorite.”
I incline my head with disbelief. “You have a favorite outfit of mine?”
He revs the engine and pulls back onto the street. His phone beeps and he asks me to check it while he gets on the highway. I worry that I might see a message from Posh or another one of the women he’s dated and brace myself for a wave of jealousy. Only, it’s from a familiar contact.
Whitaker: The photographer will be there too. Remember: act natural, authentic, and in love. You’re the face of pet adoption. Make people believe in happily ever afters.
I read it aloud and nearly choke, given the conversation the girls and I had at Once Upon a Romance the other day.
“No pressure,” Clark mutters.
“I’ll just tell Whitaker that we can do this,” I say … and while I’m at it, I could add that I regret going to prom with him back in high school and that he can send his stupid idea to find Clark a girlfriend down a creek. No, a raging river. Into a tsunami!
