Heidi: Also, Sophia already posted in the Corn Husker group. You’re officially Cobbiton’s hottest couple.
Me: Fake couple.
Heidi: Keep telling yourself that.
I groan and pull a throw pillow over my face. This is my life now. Fake dating my best friend while the entire town watches and my friends plan my fictional wedding.
The dogs—all five of them, because I’ve been house sitting while Clark is on the road for three days—sense my distress and converge on the couch. Moose tries to climb into my lap despite being the size of a small horse. Lulu, the newest addition, curls up next to me with her head on my leg. Scout and Buster flank either side, and Purdy somehow manages to get on the back cushion and perches on my shoulder like a parrot.
“You guys are the only uncomplicated relationships in my life,” I tell them, letting the enormous amount of floof absorb my frustration and confusion.
Moose licks my face, which I choose to interpret as agreement and not him finding crumbs from my Goldfish cracker binge—the parmesan flavor is underrated.
My phone buzzes again, but this time it’s not thegroup chat.
Clark: Landed. Be home in an hour.
Me: Miss the dogs?
Clark: Desperately.
Me: They’ve been terrible. Absolute monsters.
Clark: Liar. I could see the tops of Moose’s ears in your last Instagram story. He’s literally sleeping on your lap.
Me: He’s plotting. I’m very suspicious. I think he’s on the FBI watchlist.
Clark: For being so massively cute. See you soon.
My stomach flutters as the buffalo wake up, preparing to stampede.I want to think he’s coming home to me and not his house sitter. Not only the dogs, either. But I can’t let those feelings out of the barn.
The truth is, despite this whole charade, Clark and I are friends. Best friends who are fake dating and almost kiss over Italian food, but still. Just friends.
My thoughts pop like a soap bubble when I hear a key in the lock.
The dogs explode off the couch like they’ve been shot from cannons, and I barely have time to stand before Clark steps through the door, drops his bag, and crouches down to greet the rush of fur and enthusiasm.
“Hey, guys! Yes, I missed you too. Moose, you’re such a gentle giant. Lulu, hi sweet girl. Scout, I know, I know. Buster—” He laughs as Buster does his signature shimmy-wiggle. “You’re still my very good chonky boy.Oh, and Purdy, my sweetness.”
And then his gaze finds mine over the sea of dogs, and he grins, eyes twinkling. “Hey, you.”
Those buffalo sprout wings like flying pigs. “How was the trip?”
“Long. We won all three just barely, so Coach is only moderately homicidal.” He stands, and the dogs finally calm down enough that he can actually move into the apartment. “Thanks for staying with them.”
“Where else would I be?”
His eyes turn slightly unfocused, dreamy.
The words about belonging are a familiar refrain that’s starting to feel loaded with meaning I can’t quite name.
He goes to the fridge and gets something to drink, then flops down next to me on the couch like I’m not supposed to be gathering my things to go home.
I’m not sure whether to go or stay or what’s up. What’s down? I’m inside out.
Clark kicks his feet onto the coffee table. “Whitaker resent the schedule for this week.”
“Let me guess. More public appearances?”
