I knew that why not? was pretty much Palmer’s motto, but even so, I found her words echoing in my head the whole time we were at the beach. We spent the afternoon stretched out on towels on the sand, passing magazines and iPods and bags of chips back and forth, Toby endlessly speculating about Wyatt and what she should wear and if she should make the first move, Bri talking her through every scenario, even increasingly unlikely ones, until they were both doubled over laughing. I was only half paying attention, my mind on Clark and whether I should go for it.
I was still debating this as I arrived at Clark’s, a tank top and cutoffs thrown over my bikini, my hair up in a slightly sandy knot. He wasn’t around when I let myself in, and I managed to catch Bertie on only the second try. I’d developed a technique that involved hiding a leash in my back pocket and not letting Bertie see it until I had a firm grip on his collar.
I walked Bertie around the neighborhood, taking a slightly longer route than usual, trying to figure out what my hesitation was. Why wasn’t I just going for it? Asking guys out had never scared me before, and it honestly wasn’t fear of losing this client. I knew Maya would understand if I told her I was no longer comfortable walking Bertie. And while there was a tiny piece of me that was embarrassed that Clark knew me as a dog walker—about as unprestigious as you could get—it wasn’t like he went to my school or we knew anyone in common. If this was going to be a three-week relationship—max—what did that really matter?
By the time I was walking back to Clark’s house, I’d made my decision. There was really no downside, after all. If I asked him out and he said yes, that would be great. If he said no—because he might have a girlfriend, for all I knew—I’d pretend that I had been asking him to hang out as friends and discuss Bertie. And then I’d get Maya and Dave to take over some of the walks, since I was really just doing this every single day so I’d get to see him. Either way, it would be fine. There was very little risk involved, just momentary humiliation, and I could certainly handle that.
I unclipped Bertie’s leash, and he went running into the kitchen, his nails scrabbling on the wood floors. “Hey there, buddy,” I heard Clark say as I realized that he was around and this was going to happen. “Did you have a good time?”
I took a long breath, held it, then let it go as I pressed my lips together, already practicing what I would say. When I walked into the kitchen, Clark looked over at me from where he was leaning against the counter. I realized he looked nervous, even more so than usual, shooting me a smile that faded almost immediately. “Hello, Andie,” he said, his voice higher than normal. “How are you today? How did it go?”
“Good,” I said, heading to Bertie’s cupboard to hang up his leash, wondering why Clark was acting like this—like there was a teleprompter he was reading off of that I couldn’t see. It was making it that much harder for me to segue into asking him out. I took a breath, reminding myself once again that this didn’t matter. Why was I so nervous? “So, Clark—” I started.
“I was wondering—” Clark said at the exact same time.
Silence fell between us, nothing but the sound of Bertie slurping from his water dish as we both waited for the other one to start talking. “Sorry,” I finally said, gesturing toward him. “You go first.” I really didn’t think I could ask him out now, only to have him say that he needed to change the time of Bertie’s walk or something.
“Um. I was wondering . . . ,” Clark said. He looked around and gestured to the counter behind him. “. . . if you would like a chocolate?” I took a step closer and saw the large box that was sitting there, a very fancy and expensive kind that I recognized. Small boxes had been given out as favors at one of my dad’s fund-raisers, and I’d eaten the extras for weeks. “I didn’t buy them for you,” he said, then blinked. “Not that I wouldn’t have,” he clarified, talking fast. “I just . . . They were sent here today, that’s all. That’s what I meant.”
“Thanks,” I said, fighting the urge to smile as I pulled the lid off the box and grabbed the first one I saw, hoping that it wouldn’t be hazelnut. I liked almost every other kind of chocolate, but couldn’t stand hazelnut anything. I popped it in my mouth and felt my stomach clench when I realized that it was, in fact, hazelnut. It seemed to be hazelnut-cream flavored with an actual hazelnut thrown in for good measure.
“Is something wrong?”
I shook my head and tried to force myself to swallow quickly and avoid tasting as much as possible. “Fine,” I said, when I was able to speak again. “I mean, thank you. That was . . . chocolate.”
“So,” Clark said, crossing his arms and then uncrossing them and knocking the box of chocolates to the floor in the process. “Oh, jeez,” he muttered as I watched them go flying.
“I’ve got these,” I said, chasing down the two that had spilled out of the box and landed near my feet as Clark picked up the still-full box and placed it carefully on the counter. I stepped around him to toss out the two that had landed on the floor just as he took a step back, my hip bumping his, our shoulders brushing. “Sorry.” I felt heat rush to my cheeks and told myself that I was being beyond ridiculous. He liked me, right? He had to, otherwise he wouldn’t be this nervous. I just had to get this over with.
“So, um,” Clark said, adjusting his glasses, “do you ever work nights?”
I felt my smile fade as I realized I might have read this all wrong. I had thought that maybe he’d been working up the nerve to ask me out. But maybe all of this had just been about the dog. “Nope,” I said, trying to keep my voice professional and friendly and not reveal anything else I was currently feeling. “But . . . I mean, if there were an emergency or something, I probably would.”
“No,” Clark said, shaking his head. “I was just . . . trying to get a sense of your schedule.” He blinked, like he’d just heard himself, and I could see the tops of his ears were starting to turn red. “Wow, that sounded creepy. I didn’t mean that in, like, a weird way. I think I’m making this worse. Oh god.” He took a breath, then swallowed hard. “I was wondering, you know, what you do. At night.” He stared at me in horror after he said it, like he couldn’t quite believe the words had come out of his mouth. “Oh, man,” he muttered, closing his eyes behind his glasses for a moment. “This isn’t going well.”
I had to bite my lip to stop myself from smiling wide. “Hey, Clark?”
“Okay,” he said, taking a big breath, and I was pretty sure he hadn’t heard me. “Andie. So you’ve been spending a lot of time with Bertie. You know, taking him on walks, and . . .” Clark’s face fell as he realized a second too late what he’d done. Bertie looked up from his water dish, droplets hanging off his muzzle, practically vibrating with excitement.
“You said the W word,” I whispered.
“I know,” Clark said, as Bertie leaped in the air and tore out of the kitchen, only to tear back a second later, look between us, and take off running again. “I just,” Clark said, raising his voice to be heard over the sound of a hundred-pound dog running circles around us, “was thinking that since you’ve been spending time, you know, with Bertie, maybe we should talk about him, and . . .”
Bertie raced out of the kitchen, nails scrabbling on the floors, and I looked across at Clark in the sudden silence. “Hey, Clark?” He looked up. “Want to hang out with me tonight?”
He just blinked at me for a second, then smiled, and I almost had to take a step back from it. It was like all the other smiles he’d given me so far were pale imitations. This one deepened his dimples, pushed his glasses up higher on his nose, and crinkled the corners of his eyes. “Yes,” he said, sounding beyond relieved, giving me a half laugh. “That sounds great.”