Page 260 of Josephine and Clay

Definitely suspicious. "Nothing."

"Clay."

He opens the passenger door. "Get in."

I narrow my eyes. "You've been spending too much time with Nash."

The drive takes us past the feed store, past the bakery, and beyond the roads I know by heart.

Eventually I realize we're heading toward the McCoy property.

Only we don't turn onto the ranch road.

We keep going.

"Clay."

He reaches over and squeezes my knee.

A few minutes later, he turns down a gravel driveway I don't recognize.

My confusion grows. A small white house appears between a cluster of trees. It's modest, and a wraparound porch stretches across the front. The yard is wide enough for children to run through. A tire swing hangs from an old oak tree.

My thoughts screech to a halt as the truck stops.

Neither of us speaks.

I stare.

And stare.

And stare some more.

"Clay..."

His voice softens. "Come see."

My heart is suddenly beating far too fast.

I climb out of the truck.

The house sits only a few minutes from the ranch. Close enough for family, for support. Close enough to still feel connected.

But it’ll be ours.

I walk slowly toward the porch.

The front door opens.

Inside, sunlight pours through large windows. The living room is empty except for a few boxes. Fresh paint and wood floors. There’s room for a family here.

I move from room to room in stunned silence.

A kitchen, a dining room, and three bedrooms.

Three.

By the time I reach the last one, tears are already burning behind my eyes.