Page 123 of Clara Knows Best

Sure enough, there was Mrs. Milkbone—Greer—posing on a canvas dropcloth next to a newel post and an unfamiliar flight of stairs. Her mouth was open and her pink tongue was hanging out, clashing with her pink bow.

What’d I tell you? Just needed a lighter stain.

He stared at the caption, uncomprehending. A new message appeared in the thread.

Greer is now cast free and has zoomed up the stairs 100x today. You do good work, Dr. Flores!

Just needed a lighter stain? All at once, he recognized the stairs and banister. She was at the Del Amos’ cabin. Had she convinced her parents to buy it? That figured.

It kind of bummed him out that she’d given up on her crazy idea of the place being a legacy for future generations of Floreses, but why shouldn’t she? He’d told her flat-out that it wasn’t happening.

He returned his phone to his pocket as the elevator doors opened on his floor.

There stood Margo, looking expectant. “Did you get the job?”

“He offered it,” Jesse said. “I give him my decision on Monday.”

“What’s to decide?” she exclaimed. “This is it! You’ve made it!”

“I know. I just want to make sure it’s the best move.”

She stared at him, stunned. Then she gasped. “It’s Clara Wilder, isn’t it? She bewitched you!”

It was 100% Clara, but he didn’t feel like explaining that he was tragically susceptible to the wily ways of witchy women. “No, it’s not Clara.”

“What else could it be? Are you burning out? You just took three weeks’ vacation!”

“That was a working vacation,” he pointed out, and then he stopped. “Grisham was right. I’m married to the job.”

“That’s normal for surgeons,” Margo assured him. “You save lives, for heaven’s sake.”

It kind of sounds like your job is all you have, and I definitely don’t envy you that. What happens after you make unit chief? More money, trophy wives, fancy cars, burnout, alimony, golf.

He had no interest in trophy wives and he didn’t plan to burn out, but the thought of paying alimony to Clara was distinctly depressing.

In thinking he could dazzle her with cars and servants, he’d wronged her. She was a high-maintenance woman, that was for sure, but that didn’t mean she’d be happy with piles of money and a husband who worked a hundred hours a week. She was her father’s princess, and as such had incredibly high expectations. She wouldn’t put up with it for six months, let alone twelve.

“I can’t have both,” he said aloud.

He’d probably always known that, but hadn’t wanted to admit it.

“Both what?” Margo asked.

“I can’t have Clara and be unit chief. I’d never see her. She’d leave me.”

“Since when do you even want Clara?”

“Since she extracted my blackheads,” he answered without thinking.

She made a face. “What?”

“Why am I explaining this to you?” he demanded. “My personal life is none of your business.”

“I thought we were discussing your professional life,” Margo protested.

“They’re connected. It’s complicated.”

“It’s not complicated,” she disagreed. “It’s very simple. If you can’t have both, then which one do you love more? Clara Wilder or surgery?”

---