Page 239 of Josephine and Clay

Clay: Josephine Wright, will you let me take you on a date tonight?

I press my lips together to keep from smiling too widely.

Josie: Yes.

His reply comes almost immediately.

Clay: Good. Six thirty. Wear something that makes me stupid.

I nearly drop the phone.

Josie: That bar seems low.

Clay: Cruel woman.

Josie: Honest woman.

Clay: Wear the blue dress if you still have it.

My fingers still over the screen.

I do have it. I wore it once weeks ago, before everything between us became tangled and terrifying and important. I hadn’t thought he’d noticed it enough to remember.

Josie: You remember that dress?

Clay: I remember everything I shouldn’t.

My face warms.

Dr. Harris reappears near the doorway with a chart in hand. “If you’re blushing over my patient files, I’m concerned.”

“I’m not blushing.”

He studies me for half a second. “That’s a lie, but an optimistic one.”

I lock my phone and stand. “We have patients.”

“We do.” He hands me the chart with exaggerated solemnity. “Try not to smile too aggressively at them. Mrs. Avery will assume we’ve raised our prices.”

The afternoon passes more easily after that. Not because the work slows down, but because Clay’s messages keep finding me between appointments.

Clay: Do you think babies need boots?

Josie: Eventually, yes.

Clay: Tiny boots?

Josie: Usually.

Clay: That feels dangerous.

Josie: Why?

Clay: Because if I see tiny boots, I’ll buy twelve pairs.

Josie: Please don’t.

Clay: Too late. I’ve already committed.