17 | Askin questions
CLEMENTINE
“So when are you seein’ him again?”
I glance up from my phone, frowning. Grady’s sprawled across the couch like he owns it, tossing grapes into the air and catching them with his mouth.
I furrow my brow. “Who?”
“What do you mean, who?” He lobs a pillow at me. “Your Southern beau, of course.”
I refocus on my screen. “I don’t know who you’re talking about.”
“Come on, Clem.” He drags out my name, all mock-desperation. “Gossip with me. I know you miss Savannah.”
“I do,” I admit. “Wouldn’t have to hang out with you two if she was here.”
Another pillow smacks the back of my head.
“Hey!” I whip around.
“That was offensive,” Jace says, clearly pleased with himself. “You’re lucky we even let you hang with us.”
“You came to me!” I fire the pillow back, missing him by a mile.
Jace saunters to the fridge, rummaging through it indignantly. “And you’re a terrible host. No snacks, no booze… What do you city people do on your nights off? Just sit around chewin’ on ice?”
“Tell that to the chicken and dumplings you inhaled ten minutes ago,” I shoot back.
Jace shuts the fridge and grins, crooked and smug. “It’s not like you were gonna finish that by yourself. Let me guess—his mama made it for you?”
I set my phone down with a sigh. “She didn’t make it for me. She just cooked enough to feed a small country and sent me home with the leftovers. Southern hospitality at its finest.”
“You could learn a thing or two from her. You’ve forgotten all your country habits.”
The words land sharper than I expect. “I haven’t.”
“Come on, Clem. You’re as city as it gets.” Grady tosses a grape at me. I catch it in my mouth without missing a beat.
He smirks. “You don’t even have boots anymore.”
I glance down at my socks. “I… guess I have a pair. Colton got me some.”
“See?” Jace flops onto the other side of the couch, remote in hand. “He’s a good influence. You should go see him again.”
I snatch a blanket from the basket and flop down between them. “I am. I’m just not starting anything neither of us can—or wants to—finish.”
“Then don’t finish,” Jace says, tugging on the corner of my blanket and wedging his toes under my leg.
I recoil, kicking his legs away. “Ew, Jace! Why are your socks damp? You boys are a whole new level of disgusting.”
“I’m a warm-blooded man, alright? I sweat. It’s normal.”
“It’s gross—that’s what it is. I pity Emma.”
“Emma don’t need no pitying, Clem. She’s just fine—satisfied even.”
I smack him with a pillow. “Ew. Can we just watch a movie and keep our love lives to ourselves?”
Grady flicks on the TV. “Fine. A movie with no snacks is criminal, but it beats listenin’ to you two bitch at each other.”
----
I wake to the sound of snoring from both sides, watery morning light spilling through the windows. My muscles ache from sleeping half-sitting, my neck stiff and cranky.
I roll my shoulders and check my phone. Six-thirty. Early, but not ungodly. The ranchers are probably already out—Colton. He creeps into my head like it’s instinct, like it’s natural for him to be my first thought every morning.
Grady and Jace are still dead to the world, limbs sprawled everywhere.
I think about letting them sleep, but the contractor’s coming in less than two hours, and they probably have to get ready for work anyway.
I slip to the bathroom, shower, and emerge to find them both awake, gathering their things.
“Thanks for the impromptu sleepover, Clem,” Grady says, slipping his hat on. “Felt just like old times.”
My chest tightens. It did. We used to do this all the time—wander into each other’s places, stay for supper, crash on a couch. I’ve missed it. I’ve missed them. I’ve missed the easy rhythm of simply existing around each other, no questions asked.
It feels like home.
No matter how much I love the city—I’ve never felt as rooted there as I do here. Mud, heat, bugs and all.
“I pass by the McGraw ranch on my way to work,” Jace says, tossing his jacket over his shoulder. “Want me to drop you off?”
I frown. “Your house is the other way.”
“I said my way to work. Come on, we’ll grab breakfast on the way.”
I eye him. “Wait—you’re not even showering?”
He smirks. “You know what kind of work I do? I’ll be sweating again in ten minutes. Don’t waste soap.”
I groan. “See, that is exactly what’s wrong with you, you’re—.”
“You’re cheating yourself out of a ride to the McGraws, princess.”
I cross my arms. “I’m not going to the McGraws. I brought my laptop. I’m working from home today.”
His brows climb. “Don’t renovations start this morning? You know it’s gonna sound like a warzone in here, right?”
I open my mouth, then close it again.
“Exactly,” he says, steering me toward the door. “You’re welcome.”
----
Mama’s already on the porch when Jace drops me off, apron dusted with flour, a tray of biscuits cooling on the rail.
“Well, look who the cat dragged in,” she calls, shading her eyes from the sun. “Clementine, honey, come on up here. I’ll put you to work.”
“Mama, I’m not—”
“Don’t you argue. You’re standin’ there empty-handed when I’ve got pie dough to roll and a roast to season. No girl of mine’s sittin’ idle.”
Before I know it, I’m in the kitchen, elbow-deep in flour while Mama moves like a storm around me—chopping carrots, slicing onions, pulling out sprigs of thyme and rosemary.
“You keep up now,” she says without looking up. “Farm don’t slow down for anyone.”
I roll out the pie dough, stealing glances at her as she sears the roast in her big black dutch oven, the smell of sizzling beef filling the room. “Mama, can I ask you a personal question?”
“Ain’t no such thing as a personal question, darlin’. I’ve got no shame. Whatcha wanna know?”
“Do you ever feel like you’re… I don’t know. Too big for this life?”
Mama glances at me, the corners of her mouth tugging. “You projectin’ a little bit, Clementine?”
Heat floods my face. I set down the rolling pin. “I don’t mean any offense, Mama. I was just wondering—don’t you ever wish there was more to life than baking pies and scrubbing baseboards?”
She wipes her hands on her apron and peers at me over her glasses. “You’re lucky I like you, baby.”
I give her a helpless look. “I mean—did you always envision this? Or did you just kind of… end up here?”
Her smile softens as she strips thyme from its stem and sprinkles it into the pot. “I’m livin’ my dream, believe it or not.”
I sigh and nod.
“But it’s not your dream.”
I look up at her. “It’s not.”
“And that’s alright, sugar. You don’t have to give yourself up to be with the man you love.”
My eyes widen. “Now, I never said anything about loving anyone.”
Mama shoots me a knowing look. “You don’t have to say it. Your eyes do all the talkin’.”
I scoff. “This isn’t about… someone. I was just wondering—you know what, never mind.”
“Your mama loved this town, you know,” she says, rubbing seasoning into the browned roast before tucking the vegetables around it. “She lived for the land.”
I nod. “And my daddy loved her so much he gave up his entire identity to be with her.”
Mama pushes her glasses onto her head, leaving a streak of paprika on her temple.
“Your daddy never found his footing here, Clementine. He wasn’t cut out for the countryside—kept tryin’ to cram city ways into a country mold, and that don’t make sense. But don’t fool yourself into thinkin’ it’s all ranch hands and farm wives—there’s a hundred other ways to build a life out here.”
I glance out the window. My heart stutters at the sight of Colton near the baler, broad shoulders silhouetted by the rising sun.
“I just don’t know if I’m cut out for this life.”
Mama slides the dutch oven into the oven, shuts the heavy door, and turns back to me.
“That sounds like your daddy talkin’, baby girl.”
She strikes a match to light the stove for the pie, her face glowing in the flare.
“You’ve got half his blood, sure—but don’t you forget, the other half’s still your mama’s.”
----
NOTHING LIKE SOME MAMA WISDOM, RIGHT? ?? Do you guys love her as much as I do? ??