The Unexpected Everything (17 page)

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.”

“Awesome,” I said, smiling back at him.

“So we'll get dinner,” he said. “I'll find someplace good.” He slid a notepad and a pen that had been on the counter over toward me. “Want to write down your address and I'll pick you up?”

“Oh,” I said, taken aback for a second. I'd assumed we'd do something like meet up at the Orchard or go for coffee. But going out to dinner—and having him pick me up—suddenly
seemed really exciting and a lot more grown-up. “Sure,” I said, writing out my address. “I guess . . . pick me up at seven?”

“Seven,” he said, still smiling. “Seven's great. I love seven. Okay. That's a plan.”

“It's a plan,” I echoed, smiling back at him, stopping myself before it became a full-on foolish grin, even though that was what I was feeling. I had a
date
tonight. Like, an actual date with a guy coming to the door and picking me up. And I'd technically had to ask him out, but who cared about that? Without meaning to, I found my eyes drifting down to his mouth. By the end of tonight, we might have kissed. I pushed the pad of paper back across to him. “It's in Stanwich Woods,” I said, and he nodded but without any indication that he knew what that was. “So just tell the guard at the gatehouse that you're coming to see me and they'll let you in.”

“Great,” he said, ripping off the top piece of paper and folding it carefully in half before sticking it in the pocket of his light-blue T-shirt. We looked at each other for a long beat, both of us still smiling, and I realized I needed to get out of there before this nice moment turned awkward.

“Well, then, I'll see you,” I said, as I started to back out of the kitchen, nearly tripping over Bertie, who was running back in, clearly wondering why neither one of us was chasing him around with a leash, “at seven.” I patted Bertie's head, then glanced at the clock and realized that was in an hour and a half. I'd have to get moving.

“See you,” Clark echoed, and I gave him a quick nod before I turned and headed out, fighting the urge to do a little hop as I went.

I walked to my car, feeling like finally something was working out this summer. I may not have had a prestigious program to put on my résumé, but I had a date with a really cute boy, and if all went according to plan, we'd be kissing in a few hours. I pulled open the door to my car, already texting my friends.

ME

Date with Clark tonight!!!

Need prep help & reinforcements!!!

Then, not quite able to keep the smile off my face, I started the car and headed for home.

•  •  •

“You look great,” Palmer said from where she was sprawled across my bed. I was standing in front of my mirror, fussing with my hair, even though Palmer had already straightened it and told me not to touch it.

“I liked the other dress better,” Toby said from my computer screen. I was video chatting with her—and Bri, in theory, though Bri was in the middle of a fight with both her younger sister, Sonia, and her older sister, Sneha, so every few minutes she would storm off-screen, then return a while later looking vexed.

I hesitated, looking at my closet. “No!” Palmer said, seeing where I was looking. “Andie, no. This dress is great. Look, let's ask a boy.” She snapped a picture of me before I could stop her and started typing on her phone—sending it to Tom, I assumed, though I wasn't sure if he even counted, since whenever he weighed in, he was always careful to tell us that while we might look fine, Palmer definitely looked better.

I turned back to the mirror and smoothed down my hair. Palmer had walked over from her house only a few minutes after I'd gotten home and had been supervising the process ever since. We had gone through most of my clothes together, and we'd decided on a denim dress with flat black sandals and dangly earrings. I felt dressed up, but still like myself, and I had liked the outfit before Toby had weighed in. “What do you mean?” I asked, walking over to the computer.

“Eh,” Toby said from my screen with a one-armed shrug. “I just don't know if it's, you know, dynamic enough.”

“It's great,” Palmer said, glaring at Toby. “Bri?” she called, but Bri didn't appear in her window, and we were just looking at her
Alien
poster staring back at us.

“You think?” I asked, pulling down on the hem and tucking my hair behind my ears.

“Yes,” Palmer said firmly. Her phone beeped, and she glanced at it, then held it out to me. “And Tom agrees. He said you look, and I quote, ‘not bad.' ”

“That's not really a great endorsement,” I said, glancing over at my screen, where Toby gave me an
I told you so
look. “Maybe I should try the other dress again?”

“No,” Palmer said, turning my computer screen around to face the wall while Toby yelped, “Hey!” “You seriously look great. And we don't have time for you to change again.”

I glanced down at my phone and realized she was right. I looked back in the mirror and decided that I looked fine. After all, Clark been seeing me in my dog-walking clothes for a week. “Okay,” I said, letting out a long breath and then turning to Palmer. “Let's do this.”

She nodded and rolled off my bed, pocketing her phone in her cutoffs. “Bye, Toby,” she called, and I leaned over to the screen and waved, seeing that Bri still hadn't reappeared.

“Text me updates,” Toby said, giving me a wink. “Have fun!”

We walked down to the foyer together, Palmer leading the way—she knew my house as well as her own. “So,” she said, stopping at the door to dig her keys out of her purse, “if it's going really well, bring him to the Orchard later.”

I smiled at that, feeling my cheeks get hot at the thought of things going well enough that I'd bring him to meet my friends after the first night. For that to happen, there would
definitely
be some kissing. “Let's just see how this goes.”

“Andie?” I turned around to see my dad standing in the hallway that led from his study, squinting at me. He had stopped wearing his button-downs in the last few days, and now he was wearing what he wore at more casual events on the campaign trail or strategy sessions—khakis, a polo shirt, and loafers. I honestly wasn't sure I'd ever seen my father in a T-shirt. I wasn't entirely sure he owned one.

“Yes?” I called back, looking at Palmer and then widening my eyes at her. I had assumed my dad would stay in his study, reading or watching old sports games, like he'd spent the last few days doing. I was going to write a note and leave it on the kitchen counter before I left, but that was as much as I'd decided to do in terms of alerting him to my plans for the night.

“I thought I heard—” my dad said as he walked down the hall toward me, and I felt my stomach sink. I'd hoped he had a quick question that I could shout back the answer to, and then he could have gone back to watching eighties basketball players
and their disturbingly short shorts. “Oh,” my dad said when he saw Palmer. “Sorry—I didn't realize Andie had anyone over.”

“Hi, Congressman Walker,” Palmer said cheerfully. A second later, though, when she realized what she'd said, she paled. “I mean . . . Mr. Walker,” she added quickly. My dad was still looking at her, so she glanced at me, then tried, “Alexander?”

“Mr. Walker's fine,” my dad said, giving her that practiced smile he used when he was working a rope line. “How are you doing, Palmer? How are your parents?”

“Oh, they're fine. Thanks for asking.”

“Palmer was just leaving,” I said, before my dad could start asking about her brothers and sisters—I could practically see him slipping back into concerned-candidate mode, wanting to show her that he remembered her siblings' names, that he'd held on to tiny snippets of information. We didn't have time for that. It was going to be tight, but I was hoping I could get her out of here—and my dad back in his study—before Clark arrived. I had never ever done the guy-parent introduction thing and I really didn't want to start now. I raised my eyebrows at Palmer, and she nodded.