“You should go for it with Clark,” she said, giving my hand a squeeze. “Why not?”
I smiled at her and headed up the aisle of the theater, then out into the bright sunshine of the parking lot, where Bri’s SUV, a purple Escape hybrid, was parked. She’d gotten it earlier this year and immediately named it McQueen. “Because it’s the Grape Escape,” she’d said, smiling proudly when she told us. “Get it?” None of us did, and Bri had declared us all completely lacking in any kind of film education and then made us watch The Great Escape and Bullitt back-to-back, which led to Palmer developing a huge crush on Steve McQueen. (This then led to Tom getting incredibly jealous of a dead movie star and getting a sixties haircut that looked terrible and took months to grow out.)
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.