Page 62 of Sterling Clay

After Dutton takes a bath and settles into his room with the tablet, I join Clay on the couch.

“There’s something I’d like to ask you,” I begin, plucking at the hem of my T-shirt, unable to look Clay in the eyes. Asking this kind of question makes me feel extra vulnerable. “I was wondering if I could sleep with you.”

Clay turns his head so fast I swear I hear his neck crack.

“I mean, in your bed. In your room. Like we could sleep together.” I’m stammering and messing up my presentation when I’d hoped to appear smooth and casual about my suggestion. Like I’ve told Clay, I’m tired of sleeping beside a flailing six-year-old and the gift of the bravery bear feels like an opportune time to give Dutton some independence.

“I mean . . . this isn’t coming out very well.” I swallow hard while Clay tips his head back on the couch cushion.

“Mavis, it’d be my honor to have you sleep in my bed with me.” He chuckles, curling up one side of his lips higher than the other, giving me a flirty wink. “I’m tired of sleeping alone with no one to flail around me.”

Slowly, I match his smile.

“Plus, then you could boss me around and tell me where to touch you, and how.” His eyes playfully flirt.

“Clayton Sylver,” I snap, teasing him for his suggestion.

He grabs my hand and lifts to his mouth, pressing a kiss to the center of my palm before chuckling. “Scolding would be more effective if you tossed in my middle name.”

“I don’t know your middle name.”

“And I don’t know yours. We should change that.” He leans toward me and kisses my nose. “Because I want to know everything about you.”

I don’t know what’s gotten into him, but he’s been very handsy today. Touching the small of my back. Running his palm down my arm. Tickling his fingers around my neck. It’s as if he can’t stop touching me, and I’m not complaining, I’m just anxious about what this means. And if it will abruptly end.

“What are we doing?” I whisper, my voice lowering to a more serious tone.

Clay mutes the game and glances back at me. “First, we’re gonna hang out and watch the game. Then, we’re going to bed, in my room, together. Whether we do more than snuggle is up to you, but having mama bear in my bed would be just right.” Clay purses his lips, flirty in his response. Perhaps he feels the weight of my question. Who are we to each other?

I quietly chuckle, playing along with his avoidance tactic. “Oh, do you need a bravery bear, too?”

Clay pouts like he’s vying for a forbidden toy. “I do.”

“And what are you afraid of?”

Clay tips his head back on the couch cushion again and his playful expression shifts to something more sober. He looks me directly in the eyes.

“I’m afraid you will decide I’m not enough for you and leave. That you’ll leave town and disappear again, and I’ve only gotten to know a sliver of who you are, butterfly, when I want the whole tree. The house.” He waves around him. “Dutton. Us.”

I stare at him, searching for any internal warning that he’s only voicing pretty promises. I find no glaring threat. Nothing screams to proceed with caution, only care. To care for this man. To give him a chance.

“It’s Shania.”

Clay’s brows deeply crease.

“My middle name. It’s Shania.”

One corner of his mouth slowly curls higher than the other side before a full grin graces his face.

“Everett.” Clay pats his chest. “After a grandfather I never met.”

I match his smile. “Mavis was my grandmother’s name.” The one who called me butterfly. The one who gave me the shawl. The one whose perfume I try to replicate.

“Well, Mavis Shania Grant, can we watch this baseball game together?”

I chew my lip before settling into his side when he extends an arm on the back of the couch.

“As long as we can go to bed together later,” I joke.