found (clay jensen)

the jensens

The Jensen's house smells strongly of the same soap and linen that makes up Clay's scent, minus the faint accent of old leather. The familiarity of it soothes my nerves as I walk in the door.

"Ellie!" A squeaky, excited voice calls out from the kitchen.

Clay's face pops into the side of the door frame, his face sideways as he beams brightly at me. The soft sound of his socks tapping the floor makes me giggle. He trots over to me, his face full of happiness.

A streak of flour covers Clay's forehead and the front of his button-up shirt, covered by a floral apron. The words "Kiss the Chef" are written in a sprawling script that is almost impossible to decipher. His blue eyes shine in the contrast of the white flour, and his arms open wide to embrace me in a warm hug.

I squeak as he runs over to me and suddenly lifts me off the ground. Giggling, I bury my nose in his strong shoulder with my hands around his neck. He sways slightly and laughs in my ear before lowering me down gently.

"You're here!" He breathes happily. Clay separates from me and holds my shoulders at an arms-length away from him as his parents walk into the room.

"Hello, Isabelle," an exhausted, crackly voice sounds behind me. His mother has appeared from behind the doorframe, still dressed in her work clothes.

A quick look at her shows where he got the genetics from his height and his ocean blue eyes. She's pretty, but a weighty exhaustion has worn down her looks. Pale skin stretched across her forehead, wrinkled from years of furrowed eyebrows. Lines are starting to grow up her neck, giving her the appearance of sleepiness and anxiety.

Her exasperated face worries me, but she wraps me in a hug so tight that it catches me off guard.

I quickly adjust my sweater before meeting her questioning eyes. "Hello, Mrs. Jensen." My voice is steady, but much higher-pitched than normal.

Clay gives me a confused look at the sound of my voice. "Oh sweetie, just call me Lainie." She beams at me, her manner more pleasant than she looks.

I open my mouth to answer just as Matthew Jensen walks in the door. His entire vibe is like the favorite teacher, donning a plaid sweater vest and corduroy pants.

"And who is this beautiful young lady?" Mr. Jensen asks me warmly.

"Hi, Mr. Jensen. I'm Isabelle Atkins," I say brightly. Reaching out a hand, I force my voice to lower to its normal pitch.

He smiles and waves me away. "I know who you are, just thought that's something a lot of dads say."

"That's just because it was the first thing that my father said to you, Matt," Lainie pipes up as she makes her way back into the kitchen.

"Of course," Mr. Jensen says softly, glancing at Clay who still has a wide grin plastered on his face.

Looking at Clay and back at his father, I smile at how similar they are in their manners. Both stand with hands in their pockets, beaming at me with identical smiles. Their shoulders are square with a quiet confidence and their feet are equal spaces apart.

Though his father's smile is tighter and older, each boy's grin is similar in the pure happiness it shows.

The sound of a text message goes off, and my eyes naturally dart down to the bright screen.