Desire sparks as his gaze drops to my lips. I’m close enough to feel heat radiating from him. Close enough to count the freckles I’ve memorized over ten years of friendship.
“April,” he says, and my name sounds different in his voice now. Like a question and an answer all at once.
“Yes?”
“I’m going to kiss you now. Not for practice. Not for the cameras. Not for the campaign. Just for us. Is that okay?”
The buffalo don’t ask permission to stampede. It’s a fluttery free-for-all. “More than okay.”
He cups my face in both hands, and this time there’s no audience. No photographer. No staged moment for social media. Just us and the rising sun and ten years of waiting.
When his lips meet mine, it’s nothing like the kiss cam or the charity event. This is deeper. Slower. Real in a way that makes my knees weak and my soul sing. His thumb strokes my cheek as he kisses me like he’s been waiting his entire life for this moment.
I grip his jacket to keep from floating away, and he makes a happy half-sigh, half-laugh against my mouth that makes me dizzy.
When we finally break apart, we’re both breathing hard. His forehead rests against mine, and we stand in the middle of the walking path, dogs milling around our feet, while the world continues spinning, yet everything has changed.
“Wow,” I whisper.
“Yeah.” His voice is rough, wonder-filled. “That was?—”
“Real.”
“Soreal.”
We both start laughing then, giddy and relieved and maybe a little bit punch drunk. The dogs take this as their cue to start their own celebration, tangling their leashes around our legs until we’re forced to separate just to unravel ourselves.
“They have terrible timing,” Clark observes, wrestling with Moose’s leash.
“Or perfect timing. Depends on how you look at it.” I free myself from Scout’s enthusiastic circling. “Before this gets any more complicated.”
“Too late for that.” But he’s grinning, and I’m grinning, and we’re both finally on the same page after a decade of missed signals, misunderstanding, and secret pining.
We continue walking, but now, Clark’s hand finds mine and holds tight as if to promise never to let go.
“So what now?” I ask as we loop back toward his parents’ house.
“Now we figure out how to be us. The real us. Not the fake dating version.”
“That could be complicated. We have rules.”
“We can break the rules.” He squeezes my hand.
Have we already broken rule six? No falling in love. Right, I shattered that one years ago.
“What about rule seven? Going back to being friends no matter what?”
Clark stops walking, tugging me to a halt beside him. “What if we don’t go back? What if we go forward instead?”
“Forward,” I repeat, testing the word. “As in, actually dating? For real this time?”
“For real this time.” He lifts our joined hands, pressing a kiss to my knuckles. “If you want to.”
Do I want to? I’ve wanted this for so long. Dreamed about it. Imagined every possible scenario. And now it’s here, real and terrifying and perfect.
“I want to,” I say. “But Clark, what about after the campaign ends? What about?—?”
“We figure it out. Together.” His certainty is absolute. “April, I’ve spent ten years pretending to be okay with just friendship. I’m done pretending. I want the real thing. I want you.”
