Page 101 of Clara Knows Best

He threw the newspaper down suddenly. “What’s with inventing the Marine? Seriously.”

“Yoli,” she exclaimed hastily. And what did that say about her, that her first instinct was to throw Yoli under the bus?

“You’re just as guilty as she is. And don’t tell me I jumped to conclusions. You deliberately misled me.”

“I’m sorry,” she faltered. She remembered her father’s warning and decided not to explain the real reason for the deception. “It was just a joke. You’re not mad, are you?”

“No, I just think you’re insane.”

“I am,” she said humbly.

“So, all day long on Friday, nobody was texting you? You were faking it?”

“No, my dad sent me a picture of Greer. Then I was texting Birdie and some of my friends, and responding to comments on my OOTD posts.”

He shook his head in disapproval. “Insane. You know, I had to tell that idiot cop, Jordan, to stop calling you a fine piece.”

“Last night?” she asked, surprised. “You defended my honor?”

“What choice did I have? Everyone thinks we’re dating.”

“That’s your fault,” she pointed out gently. “I warned you.”

He frowned at her for a moment. Then—“You did,” he admitted. “I should have listened.”

“Try to remember that in the future,” she advised. “Clara knows best.”

“No, I’m not willing to go that far,” he said dryly. “It may interest you to know that you have a reputation among the locals for being high-maintenance and pushy.”

“I’m glad. I’d hate for people like Jordan to assume I’m low-effort in any way.”

He considered her for a long moment, and she would have given almost anything to know what he was thinking. “He’s afraid of your dad,” he said finally.

“I don’t know why people think Dad’s scary. He’s a total softie.”

He looked amused. “Only with you and your mom.”

“Oh, you mean like you?” she said, laughing.

“Me?”

“Tragically susceptible to the wily ways of witchy women?” she teased, getting up to find something to eat for lunch. “Y’all should start a support group. Let’s see, you could call it T.S.W.W.W…W.”

“It’s sad, the stuff you think is funny,” he said with dignity. “You have the worst sense of humor I’ve ever seen.”

“I have a great sense of humor,” she disagreed, opening the fridge. “Eat yet?”

“I don’t need you to feed me.”

“Baby, ’long as I got a grilled cheese, you got half.”

“I don’t want half your grilled cheese,” he said, getting up to leave the room.

“Shouldn’t have saved my dog, then,” she said lightly, plucking the dish towel from the oven handle.

Jesse whipped around and snatched it out of her hand, pinning her against the counter with his body. “What are you doing?”

The snarl sent a shiver through her, even as she started to laugh. “Drying my hands, of course.”

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