Page 21 of Clara Knows Best

“Yeah.”

“Where’d you learn?”

“Aunt Liesl taught me the basics when I was in high school. She doesn’t sew a lot but she can fix tears and put buttons back on and stuff. She thinks all women should know how to sew a little and I happen to agree with her.”

“Makes sense.”

“You think all women should know how to sew?” she asked skeptically.

“No,” he said immediately, as though he didn’t want to go on record saying any such thing. “Look, I’m just trying to be friendly.”

“Oh. Well, I’m pretty self-taught. You can get patterns online for any type of garment and then, you know, trial and error. I studied textiles and apparel but all I really got out of that was that the fashion industry sucks.”

“You ever think of starting a business of your own?”

“No. I just like making clothes for myself.”

“Fair enough,” he said.

“You probably don’t get it,” she said with a brittle laugh. “To you, it’d be like going to medical school just so you can take care of yourself when you get sick. But it’s not the same. Even a little boutique isn’t just designing and creating, it’s a ton of business and marketing and statistics. Psychology of appearance. I don’t want to do any of that. I don’t want to spend eighty hours a week creating and editing content for social media so I can attract brand partnerships.”

“I do get it,” he said. “It doesn’t sound fun to me, either.”

“I post what-I-wore pictures a few times a week and people can take them or leave them,” she said defensively. “If I get a bonus from Instagram or something, fine. But I’m not willing to spend all my free time hustling.”

“Sounds like a great boundary.”

“Well, my twenty-seven thousand followers don’t seem to have a problem with it.”

“I’m not arguing with you,” he pointed out.

“I don’t want a demanding career,” she went on, aware that she was saying too much but unable to stop the flow of her own words. “You probably don’t get that, either. I was raised by a career woman and I love and admire her. But I don’t want to be that kind of mom. Don’t tell her that.”

“I wouldn’t tell her that. Why do you think I can’t understand any of this?”

“I don’t know, because you followed in her footsteps? Or because a lot of people think I’m supposed to be Grace Wilder 2.0.”

He glanced quickly at her before returning his eyes to the road, and he was frowning slightly. “It’s fine if you don’t follow in her footsteps, Clara. I hope you know that by now.”

She did know it, so why did hearing him say it make her feel like hugging him? Of course, if she even tried it he’d probably make her get out and walk.

“What are the cookies for?”

She knew that Jesse was purposefully navigating the conversation away from the heavy stuff, and it was a relief. His innocent question about starting a business had hit a nerve she wasn’t even aware of. “Uh, the practice. They’re part of my Valentine’s decor. And we can give them out to people.”

“Should a doctor’s office serve desserts?” he asked doubtfully.

“What do you want me to give to patients? Spinach?”

“Why give them anything?” he asked reasonably. “I’ve never gotten any food from my doctor.”

“It’s good business,” she informed him.

“Because it keeps them unhealthy?”

“No! Because it’s the kind of thing people tell their friends about. Then all the kids want to go to the pediatrician that gives out cookies on holidays.” Never mind that there was only one pediatrician in town; they needed customer loyalty in case another one ever showed up.

“Wait—pediatrician?”

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