“Is that coffee?” she mumbles.
“Liquid gold.”
I hand her the mug I poured for her. She takes it gratefully, inhaling the steam.
“You’re an angel,” she says.
“How are you feeling?”
“Sleepy,” she admits. “I feel like I could sleep for a week.”
“You will,” I promise. “Once we get you on that plane.”
Clara takes a sip. She winces. “We still have to go to your dad’s house?”
“Yeah. To get the rest of your stuff. And I need to check on a few things.”
She nods. “Okay. Let’s do it.”
We get ready. I pull on jeans and a sweater. Clara brushes her hair and ties it into a bun. She looks better, the color returning to her cheeks.
We step outside. The sun is brighter now.
Tex is waiting.
He’s leaning against his truck, his arms crossed. He’s wearing a T-shirt that stretches tight across his chest and a baseball cap pulled low.
He looks so fucking good.
“Ready?” he asks.
“Ready,” I say.
We climb into the cab. The interior smells like leather and hay. Tex starts the engine, and we pull away from the ranch.
The drive to my father’s house is short. As we turn onto the gravel drive, the ache hits me.
It never fails. Every time I come here, I expect to see him. I expect to see my dad sitting on the porch swing, a cup of coffee in his hand, waving at me as I pull up.
But the porch is empty. The swing still moves slightly in the breeze, but no one is sitting on it.
The pang is sharp and sudden. It steals my breath for a second.
Tex parks the truck. We get out.
“Are you okay?” Clara asks, touching my arm.
“Yeah,” I say. “Just… memories.”
As we walk up the path, I pull the keys from my pocket. The metal is cold.
I unlock the door and push it open, expecting the smell of stale air. Dust. Neglect. A house that has been sitting empty for days.
But that’s not what hits me.
It smells clean. Like lemon polish and fresh laundry.
I step inside, confused.
