APRIL
The restof the game passes in a haze. The Knights win. The adoption event is a massive success—over thirty animals found homes. The photographer got incredible shots.
And I can’t stop thinking about that kiss.
Clark drives me home in near silence, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s charged. An electric surge. Like we’re both holding our breath, waiting for something. Or he’s coming down from a game high. Sometimes he’s bombastic—full of restless energy and other times he’s reflective. Usually I can tell, but not tonight.
“That went well,” I finally say as we pull up outside my apartment.
“Yeah. Really well.”
“The campaign stuff, too.” When he doesn’t say anything, I add, “Good publicity.”
“Right. The campaign.”
We’re both staring straight ahead, not looking at each other. I have the urge to lean over and kiss him, but I’m clammy andjittery. What if he doesn’t have the energy to play along? To indulge me? But wait. Then he wouldn’t think of me as a sister. Confusion muddles my mind.
“April—”
“I should go. Early day tomorrow.” Just like when I left his loft, I hastily gather my things—my purse, the stuffed golden retriever, my scattered thoughts.
But before I can escape, Clark’s hand catches mine.
“Thank you,” he says quietly. “For tonight. For all of this.”
“That’s what fake girlfriends are for.”
Something flickers across his face. “Yeah. Fake.”
It’s like if we both keep repeating it, we’ll believe it. At least, that’s my strategy, but what’s his? He couldn’t possibly be attracted to me, could he? That thought is almost scarier than my lonely life in the “Pining Woods.” Because then what? Then we really risk losing something special if it doesn’t work out.
I flee into my building before I can do something stupid like ask him if any part of tonight felt real to him, too.
A few days later,I’m at Clark’s apartment doing my usual dog-walking routine when my phone rings. I don’t usually answer unknown numbers, but I am expecting a call from the bank.
“Hello, I’m calling for April Hansen,” an unfamiliar voice says. “This is Jen Wells from JW Commercial Real Estate. I’m returning your call about the storefront on Main Street—the one between the Busy Bee and Once Upon a Romance? You left a message with me expressing interest.”
A nervous and giddy little zing shoots through me. Last week, on a lark—and okay, fine, inspired by thefat check I should be receiving from the Love at First Wag campaign—I contacted the real estate agency. Strictly for information gathering purposes, but I’d put it out of my mind entirely because it seemed like such a long shot.
Clearing my throat, I say, “Yes. I’d like to find out more.”
“Happily. I saw your feature in the Love at First Wag campaign, and I have to say, The Barkery concept is brilliant. We’d be happy to set up a time for a tour, show you around, and discuss lease terms if you’re interested.”
“Really?” This comes as a surprise.
“Really. Big hockey family over here. If we’re not at the Ice Palace in person, we’re glued to the TV. Anyway, the campaign has generated significant buzz, and frankly, having a business like yours on Main Street would be perfect for the community. Would you be available to meet next week?”
“Absolutely.” I don’t hide the excitement in my voice.
“Great. Let’s see. One of our associate agents, Sophia, will be able to meet with you on Thursday morning. Does that work?”
At the mention of that particular name, I think of the date at Spaglietti’s and Sophia Snodgrass-Schuster nosing into our business. Sophia is a somewhat common name. I have no idea what she does other than gossip, but it couldn’t be her, could it? I’ll take my chances because I don’t want to pass up this opportunity.
I’m still processing when I hang up a few minutes later with an appointment officially scheduled. This could really happen. I text Clark immediately.
Me: On a lark, I contacted the Main Street location for the Barkery and I’m meeting with them next week.
Clark: That’s amazing! Let me know when and I’ll see if I can make it.
