Flora’s P.O.V
I slept with my head on Clay’s shoulders, the soft picnic blanket under me and a light cover thrown over our n***d bodies. Clay was staring up at the evening sky quietly while his hand traced lines on my sides, the gesture almost unmindful. My palm was spread over his heart as I listened to the steady beat, happy to be engulfed in the warmth of his body, but even I could feel the strain in his shoulders, the stiffness of his muscles.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, patting him on the chest lightly. “You’re unusually quiet.”
Clay turned to me with a small smile and kissed my forehead lightly. “It’s nothing, just thinking.”
“Your birthday is in a week,” I said quietly, sinking deeper into him to feel his warmth. I don’t know if it was the night air or the chilling realization that
