Page 116 of Clara Knows Best

“I can’t speak for those guys.” He glanced through the sliding doors to the covered courtyard, where there was indeed a pool, and he was shocked to see movement in the water. “Is she actually swimming laps? Has the apocalypse started?”

“I said she was swimming. Didn’t you believe me?”

“I assumed that meant she was laying outnextto the pool, texting Birdie. Not actually getting her hair wet.”

“Now do you want a swimsuit of Hart’s?”

“No, jeez,” he said, recoiling from the suggestion.

She smiled. “Perish the thought?”

“Perish the thought,” he echoed absently, because now he was watching Clara climb out of the pool in a polka-dot bathing suit. She leaned over the water and wrung out her long hair, and then she wrapped herself in a bath sheet and went through the other sliding door into a back hallway.

He looked at Liesl, feeling more than a little of his depression returning.

“Clara likes tennis,” she remarked. “I think it has a lot to do with the cute little outfits.”

“Regular gym clothes are fine,” he said weakly.

She gave him a sympathetic look, and he knew it would be a waste of breath to suggest as much to Clara. It’d be a lot smarternot to mention it to her at all, and tell Harry something had come up at work.

He had made up his mind to do this by the time Clara came into the room around ten minutes later. She was wearing a gray sweatsuit, no makeup, and her hair was combed but still wet. It was the least glamorous he had ever seen her, and all he wanted to do was pull her into his lap and sniff her neck. Intellectually, he knew that was weird, but in every other way it seemed like a genius idea.

“Hey, good morning,” she greeted him, pulling out the stool beside his.

He was elbow-deep in chicken and waffles, and he ignored her.Just eat and get out, he told himself.

“I’m going to go shower,” Liesl volunteered on her way out of the room. “Jesse needs a partner for tennis.”

He sighed.

“You are not going to believe this,” Clara said with feeling, “but I brought a tennis dressjust in case.”

Of course she did.

“How many different possible scenarios did you pack for?” he could not resist asking.

“Never you mind. Where are you playing? I didn’t know you were into tennis.”

“I’m not. My doctor invited me to play with him and his wife at their club.”

“Your doctor? How old is he?”

“My age.”

“Oh, you mean your friend? Are you going to ask me to play with you?”

“Thinking about it,” he grumbled.

“Well, if it helps you decide, my tennis dress is all black, and Hart says I’m halfway decent on the court,” she informed him cheerfully. “We used to play sometimes in New York.”

“Why would the color of your outfit help me decide?” he asked, irritated.

“So you’d know if it would clash withyouroutfit,” she said reasonably.

“I don’t have an outfit. I’m just going to wear gym clothes.”

“Oh,” she said, clearly flummoxed by the concept. “What color?”

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