Page 63 of Dotted Lines (Runaway 5)

She nodded. “I did know that.”

“The smallest bone is in your ear. It’s the . . .” His forehead furrowed. “I can’t remember the name.”

“Stapes.”

“Yeah, yeah.” His eyes lit up. “The stapes.”

“What was your favorite thing about kindergarten?” I asked.

“Recess.”

I chuckled. “I liked recess too.”

“Karson said you guys live in Arizona.” Holly sipped from her margarita. “He actually told me about all of it. The Cadillac and how you came to bring it here. It’s so fantastic. The whole trip across the country. Truly . . . wow.”

“It’s been incredible to connect with everyone again.” Clara smiled and lifted her own drink, sparing me just a quick look over the rim. “I sent the girls a text last night. They all wanted me to tell you hello. And Londyn said she’s sending you the title to the car before you try to do something stupid like return it.”

I chuckled. “I’ll have to get her number from you.”

Somehow, I knew it wouldn’t be strange talking to Londyn again. And somehow, I knew the feeling I’d had yesterday with Clara, that longing, wouldn’t be there with my former girlfriend. Londyn and I would talk as old friends because that door had closed a long, long time ago.

No way could I say the same about Clara.

I took a chip, scooped some salsa and chomped it with fury. What the hell was wrong with me? Clara was an old friend too. We were history. So why couldn’t I shake the feeling from yesterday? Why did it feel like I was on the wrong goddamn side of this booth?

Holly deserved better than this.

I just had to get through today and life would go back to normal. Clara was leaving tomorrow, and I’d put the memories in the past. Move forward.

“What did you guys do today?” I asked, eating another chip.

Clara glanced up, then her eyes skidded away.

Yeah, this hadn’t been one-sided. I could fool myself all I wanted but she’d felt that spark yesterday too.

Fuck. I was such a prick.

“We spent most of the day at the beach,” she said.

“I built a sandcastle,” August said proudly, shifting to his knees so he could bend down and gulp his lemonade from the cup’s straw.

“And we took one last drive in the Cadillac.” Clara’s eyes softened and she looked at me, really looked at me, for the first time this evening. “I hope you don’t mind a few extra miles on her.”

“Not at all.”

“It’s too bad you’re leaving so soon,” Holly said. “It would be fun to hear more stories about the junkyard. Karson rarely talks about it.”

Because it wasn’t a time I wanted to relive. I’d been angry and channeling a lot of false confidence. The stealing and the fights . . . I wasn’t particularly proud of myself at that age.

“What’s a junkyard?” August asked. The kid didn’t miss much. Obviously, it wasn’t something Clara had spoken to him about either. I doubted she would until he was older.

“It’s a place where they take old cars and trucks that are broken,” I answered.

“Do they get fixed?”

“No, not usually,” Clara said. “They call it a junkyard because most of it becomes junk.”

“Like garbage?”