The buffalo in my stomach grow wings and take flight. One looks back over its shoulder and winks at me.
“Okay,” I whisper. “Let’s do it for real.”
His smile could be seen all the way in Cobbiton. “Yeah?”
“Yes.”
He kisses me again, shorter this time but no less sweet. When we break apart, all five dogs are sitting in a perfect semicircle, watching us like they’ve been waiting for this moment as long as we have.
“Even the dogs approve,” I laugh.
“The dogs are smart. They’ve known all along.”
We walk back to the house hand in hand, and I’m acutely aware that everything has shifted. The foundation is the same—ten years of friendship, inside jokes, shared history—but we’re building something new on top of it. Something real.
22
APRIL
When we return to the Culpeppers’backyard, Cheryl is standing at the kitchen window. She sees our joined hands and breaks into the biggest smile I’ve ever seen. She turns to Mr. Culpepper and he nods.
“Your mom is watching,” I warn.
“I think she knew before even I did. She has this uncanny ability to sense things before they even happen.”
My heart does a full somersault because does that mean she could tell how I felt too? Thankfully, no one utters a word. It’s business as usual in the Culpepper household with lots of food, fun, and laughter. We play golf darts with the twins, Claudia shows us around the library where she works, and we go out for rolled-up ice cream bouquets at a new place in town.
That evening, after dinner, we bring the dogs into the backyard for a play session. Clark throws a tennis ball for Scout while Moose tries to steal it mid-flight and Buster supervises from his favorite spot in the grass. Purdy and Lulu chase each other in circles, their joy infectious.
This is exactly what I want. Clark and all of it. The chaosand the amusement and the way he makes everything feel like an adventure.
Clark jogs back over, slightly breathless. “Are you okay? You’re staring.”
“I’m memorizing this moment.”
His expression softens. “Good moment to memorize?”
“The best.”
He pulls me close, wrapping his arms around me from behind as the dogs continue to play. His chin rests on top of my head—well, on top of his baseball cap that I’m wearing again—and for the first time in ten years, not only am I where I want to be, but things seem to be how I want them—Clark and me, not just friends, but something more.
I mean, we haven’t made it official and had “the talk,” but is that strictly necessary? It feels real. It feels right.
“So, we should probably talk logistics.”
I twist in his arms to face him. Oh, maybe he does want to define things. “Logistics?”
“Like how we tell people. What we do about the campaign now that this is—whether we keep pretending or?—”
I notice he doesn’t quite use the words boyfriend or girlfriend. He doesn’t say he wants to be with me. Fails to declare his undying love. Okay, that might be asking for too much just now, but I’m afraid of what it means. So, I opt to play it safe. For now.
“One thing at a time.” I press my finger to his lips. “Let’s just enjoy this. The rest we can figure out tomorrow.” Or later. Or never. That’s fine too. I like this little happy bubble we’re in. No need to pop it.
He kisses my finger, then my palm, then pulls me closer. “I like the way you think.”
The buffalo, already on call, abruptly get to theirfeet and stand at attention at how swoony this feels. “That’s new. Usually, you say I overthink everything.”
“You do overthink everything. But right now, not overthinking is perfect.”
