Page 12 of Clara Knows Best

Clara looked up at him in astonishment, breaking into a wide, happy smile. “Jesús! Hey! You came! But you hate karaoke!”

“You were good,” he assured her, easing the margarita from her hand and handing it to a passing waitress. He almost had to shout over the crowd. “You should join a choir.”

She laughed at that. “You’re such a liar! I’m the worst singer here!”

“No, Yoli’s much worse,” he said. He had identified a vivacious young Latina as Yoli early on, because she introduced herself every time she got the mic.

Clara laughed as though it were the funniest joke she’d ever heard. “It’s true,” she gasped, wiping her eyes.

“Clara, you’re drunk,” he informed her fondly.

“I think I’m just tipsy,” she said loudly, leaning into him and placing her hands on his chest. “I only had one margarita. You’re not going to kiss me, are you?”

Now, why did the woman look hopeful? The tequila had clearly taken over. “I don’t think you’re tipsy, kid. I think you should let me take you home.”

“No way she’s going home with you,” DeWitt Petty said angrily, having joined them.

Clara let out a faint yelp at the sudden appearance of Petty; Jesse felt her shrink against him for a second before her friend grabbed her arm and began to pull her away.

“She’s not going with either of you perverts!” Yoli said hotly. “Come on, Clara! Let’s get out of here!”

“I should go with Yoli,” she told Jesse apologetically.

“I don’t really think you should,” he cautioned, with a glance at Petty, who glowered like a man whose big plans for the evening were coming apart at the seams.

“You don’t?” Clara’s harried gaze searched his.

Jesse summoned a gentle smile and his most reassuring bedside manner. “Uh-uh. I think you better stick with me tonight.”

She looked into his eyes again, and though she’d hardly seen him much in the last decade, she must have been reassured by what she saw there. “Okay,” she murmured, and started to smile back at him.

For some reason, it felt like a victory.

“Yoli—” she began.

“You’re not going home with some guy I’ve never seen before!” Yoli said fiercely.

Jesse intervened, speaking clearly and with authority. “I’m Dr. Jesse Flores. I’m staying with her parents. And I’m driving you home, too, Yoli. You ladies are intoxicated.”

“We arenotintoxicated,” Yoli argued, but then she tried to lean on a table and fell to the floor, sending Clara into fits of laughter. “All right, we’re pretty smashed. Lead the way, Dr. Flores.”

DeWitt Petty didn’t say anything else, but he watched with a scowl as Jesse hauled Yoli to her feet and ushered the women out of the building.

They dropped Yoli off at her house, staying long enough to be sure that she went inside and locked her door behind her.

As soon as Jesse got back in the car, Clara asked him wistfully if he didn’t want some pie from Betty’s Metro Diner. “Yoli and I always get pie after karaoke.”

And that was how he found himself in a tacky roadside diner at midnight, watching a beautiful drunk woman eat banana cream pie.

“Betty uses fresh fruit in all her pies,” Clara told him around a mouthful.

“You like dessert, huh?” he asked, remembering the coffee cake.

“I sure do.” She pointed an accusing finger at his pie. “It’s good, right?”

Her dark chocolate eyes shone warm and bright in the flickering fluorescent light of the diner.

“Yeah, it’s good.”

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