Jamie sighed but climbed out of bed, following the girls down the hall.
“You have to find it,” Clayton said, rubbing his elbow.
She ran a hand through her hair. “I have to find my own gift?”
He nodded, grinning.
“We’ll help you!” Charlotte said, already lifting couch cushions and peeking under chairs.
Jamie glanced around the room. “Did you hide it?”
“Nope,” Clayton said.
She surveyed the space, searching for anything out of place. Then her eyes landed on the mantel. The terrible horse painting was gone, replaced by a breathtaking canvas of a white flower, rich with greens and blues.
“I love it,” she whispered, pressing a hand to her cheek. “It reminds me of a Georgia O’Keeffe.”
“That’s because it is one,” Clayton said.
Jamie gasped.No way.She took a half step closer, studying the brushstrokes. The delicate balance of abstraction and form.It can’t be real.
“No! Clayton. They cost a fortune.”
He shrugged. “You said you can’t put a price on art.”
She let out a breathy laugh, shaking her head. Trust him to say that.
“It’s better than those dumb horses,” Emily said.
Jamie stiffened.The horses.Their mother’s painting. She wasn’t sure if the girls even knew. Maybe it was better if they didn’t.
“But there’s a catch,” Clayton added.
Jamie turned back to him, her pulse skipping. “A catch?”
“It comes with the house.”
She stared at him, the words sinking in.With the house.
Her fingers curled against her palm. A month ago she’d been sure she was leaving. That staying here—staying with him—was impossible. But now?
She met his gaze, warmth unfurling in her chest. And then she smiled.
“I guess I’ll have to stay, then.”
After breakfast they dropped the girls off at school—a morning ritual Jamie cherished—but Clayton turned east instead of heading north.
She frowned, immediately suspicious. “You’re going the wrong way.” She pointed at the highway sign. “Nashville’sthatway.”
“No, I’m not,” he said, his grip steady on the wheel. A slow grin tugged at his lips, like he was enjoying a private joke.
Jamie’s stomach tightened. Unplanned detours, last-minute changes—those things made her skin itch. “Clayton,” she warned, narrowing her eyes, “what are you doing?”
He finally looked over, his grin widening. “We’re going to Dollywood!”
Her mouth fell open. “What?”
“Thought we’d make a day of it.”
