Page 69 of That Next Moment

Us.

I glanced at my phone, noticing I only had a few more minutes until Clay came to pick me up. I slipped on my heels and gave myself one final glance in the mirror. A simple black dress flowed down my body, hitting all my curves while still being modest. I wasn’t sure how to dress, but I knew I wanted to look and feel good.

Giving Niko a pat on the head goodbye, I stepped onto the porch right as Clay pulled up in Milo’s truck. As always, he climbed out and ran up to meet me, grabbing my hand as if it were just as natural as it was in college.

“Now just a warning,” Clay started.

“That’s not the way to begin a conversation. Hello, Clay.” I smiled at him as he opened the passenger door for me. “How was your day?”

He narrowed his eyes and smirked. “It was good, filled with numbers. Elliot’s books are coming together, albeit slowly.”

“It’s good he has you then.” I smiled.

He gave a soft sigh and licked his lips. He cleared his throat. I could just tell he wanted to kiss me, but he was resisting. “How was your day?”

“Fantastic,” I said, catching his smile as he shut the car door. “Madeline’s dress is ninety-six percent done, just in time for her final fitting and bridal photos with Carter. Okay, now.” I tilted my head to look at him. “What do you need to warn me about?”

“My parents are over the moon thrilled that you are coming.” He slipped his hand in mine, lifting it to his lips to place a gentle kiss on the back of it. “You look beautiful.”

“Why are you warning me? I’m excited to see them, too.” I tightened my fingers around his, feeling those light flutters hit my stomach after the simple kiss and him calling me beautiful.

“They may talk your ear off. My mom squealed on the phone when I told her you were coming. I haven’t heard her squeal in years so. . . just a warning.”

“I’m sure I’ll have an amazing time. I’m not worried.”

And I wasn’t. Even when Clay opened the door, and we were greeted instantly by Elizabeth, who pushed her son aside to give me the biggest hug I’ve received in a long time. She hadn’t changed. Her brown hair was still in curls, and her eyes were still full of life and promise. She held me at arm's length and smiled, shaking her head in disbelief that I was standing in front of her.

“Oh, Ophelia.” She pulled me in for another hug. “It’s been way too long!”

“Mom, let the woman breathe,” Clay said from behind her. When I opened my eyes to find him, he was crouched on the floor, petting an outrageously huge black cat. “Grim, bud. You need one of those wheels I’ve seen.”

“Oh, he does not.” Elizabeth spun. “He gets plenty of exercise.”

“Running up the stairs to our bed does not count as exercise, Liz.” The booming voice came from the kitchen, becoming clearer as Paul made his way into the living room with us.

Paul looked exactly like Clay—just as tall, with brown hair that had been taken over by gray over the years. He had gained some weight around his middle, but his welcoming demeanor hadn’t faded. If anything, it was amplified.

“Hi, Mr. Nolan.” I smiled at him, giving him a small wave.

“Now, Ophelia, how long have you known me?”

“Too long,” I responded.

“Long enough to drop the ‘mister’ and call me Paul.” He walked over and wrapped me in his arms.

These two were so welcoming to me, even after what had happened between Clay and me. They let bygones be bygones–, never held grudges. My parents would probably warn me he would leave me again. I shook the thought away. That wasn’t going to happen again. . . at least I hoped it wasn’t.

“Okay, Paul. How are you? Clay told me you’ve retired?” I asked as he pulled me in his arm, leading me into the kitchen.

“Oh, yeah, a few months ago. Right before Clayton moved home, really.”

“And you’re building things? With wood?” I asked.

He furrowed his brow at me, his glasses moving up the bridge of his nose a touch. “Just dabbling. Except Clay refuses to go work for Home Depot so I can’t make as much as I want because the wood costs so damn much.”

Clay stood in the kitchen, helping his mom grab plates and even from a distance, I could see his eye roll. “You agreed you wouldn’t talk about that, Dad,” he grumbled.

I gave a small laugh and gave Paul one more squeeze before letting him go to join Clay and Elizabeth in the kitchen. She was still working on dinner, which was, by the looks of it, pointing back to her Irish roots. Irish Pasta, with all the comfort food to go with it. Garlic bread had just come out of the oven, making the entire kitchen smell fabulous, and the mashed potatoes were still steaming in the serving tray.

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