Page 245 of Josephine and Clay

“An unreliable source.”

He slides the plate closer to me. “Have as much as you want.”

The gesture is small, but I notice it. He’s been doing that all evening. Paying attention without announcing it, making sure I have water, choosing a seat where I wouldn’t be jostled, walking slowly without making me feel slowed down.

He'd spent the entire evening paying attention to details most people would've missed. The pie is only the latest example.

By the time we leave, the sky has deepened into purple, and the first stars are beginning to appear. Clay helps me into the truck, then drives back toward Buckhorn, but instead of turning into town, he takes the road toward the lake.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

Clay

AUGUST 16TH

The lake barely ripples beneath the fading sunlight. A breeze moves through the trees along the shoreline, carrying the scent of pine and warm earth.

Usually I'd have a joke ready or some line I'd spent years perfecting.

Instead, I'm standing beside Josephine trying to remember how breathing works, which is embarrassing.

I glance over.

She's leaning against the railing at the end of the dock, looking out across the water.

The blue dress is unfair.

I spent the entire drive pretending it wasn't distracting me.

"You're staring again."

Damn.

A smile pulls at my mouth. "You always know when I am."

"Because you get this look."

I turn toward her. "What look?"

"The one where you're clearly not listening to anything being said."

"That's hurtful."

"It's accurate."

I laugh under my breath.

Unfortunately, she's right.

Most of dinner had been spent watching her laugh at my stories, steal my fries, and look genuinely horrified when I admitted I'd spent half the week reading parenting articles.

Thinking about them still feels unreal. Thinking about them with her standing beside me feels even stranger.

Not bad. Just bigger than anything I've ever wrapped my head around.

For years my life was measured in rodeos, miles traveled, and eight-second rides. Now I'm standing beside a lake wondering whether our babies will have her eyes.

Most of my life I've felt the need to keep moving. If things got complicated, I left. If conversations became uncomfortable, I found an exit.