Chapter 36

[Mavis]

When we finally collapse in bed, after a check on Dutton, Clay holds me against his side, stroking down my hair and over my shoulders. I’m sleepy and warm, and so unbelievably content. I don’t want to close my eyes, afraid I’ll miss a second of this bliss.

I’ve been thinking about what Clay said about fairy tales and how they live in the cracks and corners of our lives. For some reason, my mind leaps to the book Dutton and I were reading together some months back, about the princess who collected sand in a jar, thinking it was magical and could save her kingdom.

Clay was filling in the cracks and corners of my life. He wasn’t fairy dust, but those magical grains of sand. And our kingdom was us, saved by our love.

“When I was ten,” Clay interjects on my thoughts. “I found my mother bent over beside my parents’ bed. The pain unbearable for her.”

“Clay,” I murmur, attempting to sit upright, but he tugs me tighter to his side.

“She died in childbirth, something practically unheard of in the modern era, and yet not as uncommon as one might think. Pre-eclampsia.”

Oh my God . How awful for him.

“I watched as my father fell apart. The love of his life gone. A new baby in her place.”

I hear Clay swallow.

“And I was afraid to love.” His voice isn’t more than a rough whisper. “Afraid of the pain it causes when you lose that someone you love more than anyone else.”

He clears his voice, but the volume doesn’t rise. “I’ve never been afraid to help someone or save a hurt creature. But I’ve been terrified to make someone mine.”

I remain quiet, sensing Clay has something more he wants to say, something he needs to get off his chest.

“Before I was into girls or understood that love was what my parents had. Before my mom’s death, my mom once said, find your person, Clay .” He pauses. “ Love her hard. Let her love you hard, too .”

He’s quiet again, his fingers tickling down my arm in a lulling motion. “I don’t think I understood what she meant until now.”

He kisses my head and I shift so I can look at him better, but he isn’t looking at me. He’s staring off at the opposite wall.

“Did you know that each of us were named after something related to the earth?” He softly chuckles. “Stone and Clay are probably obvious. Our father’s name was Flint. Mom said he was a hard man to love at first, but when he gave in, when he embraced the love he was given . . . Then she’d just deeply sigh like it was the best feeling.”

I smile, pressing a kiss to his bare chest.

“You’re my deep sigh, Mavis.”

I press up on his chest, so I can look directly at him, and he’ll look at me. “That’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard.”

“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. And I meant what I said earlier. I want a fairy tale, too, Mavis. Let us have that wedding.”

“Clay, are you asking—” I didn’t feel I could tempt fate to ask him for clarification. My hope couldn’t take the letdown if I was jumping ahead of this conversation.

“I’m saying I want more firsts with you. But I also want to be your last. The last man you ever kiss. The last man to ever love you as fiercely as I do.”

His eyes lock on mine which are overflowing with tears of joy.

“Marry me, butterfly.”

“Clay. Yes. Absolutely yes.” Leaning down, I kiss him with all I have, and then he’s rolling over me, filling me once again.

And that content feeling, which is pure happiness, leaves me breathless once more.

He’s my deep sigh.

+ + +

In the morning, we wake to a visitor in our bed. In the early morning hours, Dutton climbed between us. Clay didn’t seem to mind the intrusion, slipping his arm over Dutton and reaching out for me, wrapping us both underneath his protection.

Thankfully, he slipped on his boxer briefs and I’m wearing a Seed & Soil t-shirt after our second round of love making last night.

In a groggy voice, Clay mutters. “What’s the plan for today, buddy?”

Dutton lays on his back, staring up at the ceiling. “First, oatmeal.”

“On it,” Clay says, tossing back the covers and standing beside the bed to stretch.

I admire his back as he lifts his arms over his head.

Dutton stands on the mattress, jostling the bed and imitating Clay, adding an extra groan to the stretch. Clay chuckles and spins toward Dutton.

“Whatcha doing’, little bear?”

“Stretching like Papa Bear. Gotta limber up before the dismount.”

“What dismount?” Clay asks but before he finishes, Dutton is doing a cartwheel across the bed and landing off the end of it. His little feet hit the floor before he snaps his heels together, tosses his arms into the air, and dramatically tips back his head.

“Whoa,” Clay says, staring at Dutton.

“How’d I do on the dismount?”

“A perfect ten.”

Dutton beams, lowering his arms and staring at Clay. “Really?”

“Absolutely.” Clay nods in confirmation.

Dutton pumps his thin arm beside him. “Yes!” Then, he rushes off for his room or the kitchen. All things considered, he’s definitely in a good mood this morning.

I perch up on my elbow, drop my voice to sound as gruffly masculine as it can go, and say “Whatever happened to not doing him any favors by making him think everything he does is perfect ?”

Clay laughs, hands on his hips as he looks at me. He points toward the door. “Did you see that, though? It was perfect.”

“You’re a sap.” I toss a pillow at him which he easily catches.

“Yeah, well, that’s my kid. He’s always going to be perfect.” Clay kneels on the mattress coming closer to me, and I fall back on the bed.

“So now you get it,” I tease.

“Nope. Now I get you and him. And that’s a perfect ten.”

I laugh. “Oh my God, I love you, Clay.”

“I know.” He smiles. “That’s a ten, too.” He kisses me fast and quick before pulling back. “And I love you, too, butterfly. Now get up. We have oatmeal to eat.”