Chapter 15. Twenty-Three Years, I Think

Josie's POV

"Clem," Weston said.

It was four in the morning, and he was on the flour sacks, and I'd told him everything: the portrait, the little girl with my scowl, the bread, the woman's voice.

"Clem," he said again, as if he were trying it out. "Clementine?"

"I don't know. I don't know anything. I know a song I can't remember the words to, and that there were three boys, and that one of them always stole the heel." I was kneading too hard. The dough was going to be terrible. "Your father knew. He watched me eat it like he was watching a fish take a hook."

"He suspects," Weston said. "If he knew, you wouldn't be in this kitchen."

"That's very comforting."

"It wasn't meant to be."

What happens next? Find out!

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My heart is still racing

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I'm obsessed

Love the app

My new guilty pleasure

Loved my mystery reward

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