Page 241 of Josephine and Clay

I take the flowers from him, brushing my fingers over the soft petals. “For the record, I like both.”

“Flowers and snacks?”

“Thoughtful gestures and food.”

His smile gentles. “Noted.”

I put the flowers in water while he waits in the doorway, watching me move around my kitchen with a look that makes my pulse skip once. When I turn back, he’s looking at the vase as if he’s memorizing the sight of them there.

“What?” I ask.

“Nothing.” He clears his throat. “I just like seeing them in your place.”

The comment lands harder than any polished line ever could.

We drive through Buckhorn with the windows down, the evening air warm against my skin. Main Street is still busy enough for people to notice us, which they absolutely do.

Virgil Tucker pauses outside the feed store and gives Clay a look that contains an entire conversation.

Clay lifts two fingers from the steering wheel. “Evening, Virgil.”

Virgil grunts. “Don’t drive too fast. Precious cargo.”

My face burns instantly.

Clay, unfortunately, looks delighted. “Precious cargo,” he repeats once we’ve passed.

“Do not start.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were about to.”

“I was going to say he’s right.”

The words steal some of my embarrassment.

I look out the window, pretending to study the bakery as we pass. “You can’t say things like that while I’m trying to be annoyed with you.”

“That seems inconvenient for you.”

“It is.”

He chuckles and turns onto the road leading out of town. “I’ll try to be less charming.”

“Please don’t strain yourself.”

“I’d hate to overdo it with my fragile condition.”

“You’re never going to let that go, are you?”

“Being tragically wounded?”

“You’re healing.”

“I still have emotional bruising.”

“You rode bulls for a living.”