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 naked 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 ...