Page 117 of Clara Knows Best

“Navy and gray.”

She considered a moment. Then she brightened. “Hart has black tennis clothes. Duh! You can borrow them. I doubt he took them to Aruba.”

“I don’t want to borrow them.”

“Jesse, we’re going to look good,” she promised him, with an ambitious gleam in her eye that told him she would be difficult to dissuade. “And we’re going to have fun, and we’reprobablygoing to win.”

He rolled a piece of fried chicken in half a waffle, dipped it in syrup, and put the whole thing in his mouth. “Okay.”

Clara grabbed his shoulder (not the recently sprained one, luckily) in both hands and jerked him around a little to convey her excitement and approval, and then she settled down and started cutting up her waffles.

48

Jesse was bossy on the tennis court, which delighted her. After his downcast attitude the night before it was great to see him so invested in the game.

On top of being seasoned players, Harry and Heidi were laid-back, forgiving and communicative with one another, and won the first set with apparent ease.

“It’s fine,” Jesse told her in an undertone. “We have our bearings now. Second set is ours.”

He looked great—tall and swarthy and fit, and she loved that their outfits were matchy-matchy. She just hoped Jesse wasn’t too distracted to notice how adorable they looked together.

“Are you listening, Clara?”

“Sort of,” she said honestly. “We should take a selfie.”

“Please focus,” he begged her. “I’d like to win at least one set today.”

“Really? I thought we were just having fun.”

He frowned at her.

“I’m kidding, Jesse. Do you want me to play like Hart, all cut-throat and annoying? I warn you—it’s not cute.”

“How could it not be? You have a ponytail with a big bow in it.”

She grinned. “Aside from that.”

He hesitated, but greed got the best of him. “All right, do it.”

She saluted him with her tennis racket. “Say less,papi.”

He muttered something she couldn’t hear under his breath, and returned to his position.

“Ready?” Harry called.

“Ready,” Jesse answered.

They won the second set. Clara was panting when they took a water break, and felt like she’d just spent way too long lunging from one side of the court to the other as fast as she could. “I’m out of shape,” she complained, arching her lower back. “This was a bad idea.”

“I think we can actually win this,” he said, handing her a bottle. “You know, I should play with Hart sometime. I like his style.”

“Wow. That’s the thanks I get for busting my butt—”

“Stop whining,” he interrupted. “You’re pulling your weight for once in your life. Big deal.”

She glared at him. “If we win, we take a selfie.”

“Yeah, okay.”

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