Page 120 of Clara Knows Best

“Please. I feel bad for leading you on about Jesse buying it. I gave him the hard sell, but I failed.”

“We’ll talk about that later,” he said, snatching the envelope and sticking it back into her purse. “I want the left side of the basket, please. No—not your left. My left.”

She opened it to reveal the chocolate cookies she had baked.

“Ooh,” he said with interest. “May I?”

“Help yourself. As I said, they’re for you. Poor Mrs. Del Amo, though…she won’t like the other side.”

“Why, what is it?” he asked with his mouth full. Then his eyes widened as the flavor hit him. “Cayenne pepper?”

“Mexican hot chocolate cookies.”

“Good,” he said, his eyes still wide. “Little bit spicy? Genius.”

“Thank you.”

“Did you make this kind because you think I’m Mexican or something?”

She knew he was teasing. “Don’t worry, I’ve seen the statue of Romeo Del Amo in the park. Everyone knows y’all own this town.”

“Romeo built this town out of nothing,” he said with phony indignation, helping himself to another cookie.

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Young people,” he huffed. “What’s in the other side of the basket?”

She lifted the lid to show him the frosty six-pack of his favorite beer.

He gasped dramatically. “For me?”

“Mm, hmm.”

He lifted one out and opened it with his teeth, making her shudder a little. “Come on up to the porch,” he invited, and traded her the open beer for the whole basket.

Grinning, she followed him up the steps and took the second rocker.

She stayed for dinner, both because they invited her and because she didn’t want to drive home with only the beer and a few chocolate cookies in her system.

Just before she’d left, Memo had asked to see the envelope in her purse. She’d taken it out, eager to give it to him.

But he didn’t take it. “Just wanted to make sure you didn’t hide it in my house,” he explained, and shut her door for her.

When she reached the highway, she called Hart.

“This better be good,” he growled.

“Investment opportunity,” she said quickly, hoping those were the magic words that would keep him from hanging up.

“How much do you need?”

“Thirty thou—”

He hung up.

“Thirty thousand,” she sighed, to no one.

She tried calling back.

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