Page 10 of Josephine and Clay

“Alright,” he says, watching me carefully. “You want me to walk you out, or…?”

I hesitate.

One last chance to walk away, to choose the safe option, the smart one.

Instead, I hear myself say, “You can come with me.”

His mouth curves. “Oh, for sure. I can do that.”

The night breeze hits my skin the second we step outside, cool and grounding in a way I didn’t realize I needed.

It doesn’t help when he’s right behind me, close enough that I can feel it without even looking.

Buckhorn at night is quiet. The noise fades quickly once we’re off Main Street, replaced with the distant hum of trucks on the highway and the soft crunch of gravel under our boots.

I should say something. Normal words that make this feel less like I just flipped a switch I can’t turn back off.

But I don’t.

Because every time I open my mouth, I’m too aware of him, of the way his presence fills the space beside me, of the way my body feels different. Awake. Alert. Like every nerve is tuned too tight.

“You always this quiet?” he asks after a minute, echoing his earlier question.

I glance over at him. “You already asked me that.”

“Yeah,” he says easily. “Didn’t get a real answer.”

I exhale softly. “Maybe I don’t feel the need to fill the silence.”

His gaze shifts to me, thoughtful now. “Or maybe you’re thinking too much again.”

“Or maybe,” I counter, “I’m deciding if I should let you keep walking with me.”

That earns me a low chuckle. “You invited me, remember?”

“I can change my mind.”

“You won’t.”

I smirk. “Confident.”

“Observant,” he corrects.

I narrow my eyes slightly. “You don’t know me.”

“Not yet.”

I turn my attention back to the road ahead, but it’s pointless. He’s there in my head now too, just like he was at the bar.

This is exactly what I was trying to avoid.

My cottage comes into view a minute later, tucked just off the road. It's nothing fancy, but it's mine.

I slow as we reach the steps.

This is the moment.

The line.