Page 63 of Clara Knows Best

But that didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy the sight of her leaning over the counter in a sleeveless pink dress and some truly remarkable pale pink boots.

“How’s it coming?”

“Good,” she intoned, engrossed in her work. She’d explained that it was to be a time lapse makeup tutorial, so after she had informed her phone camera that she was going to show them (who?) how she elevated her work makeup for an evening look, he was allowed to talk and she was free to respond.

His black shirt hung on a hook behind her. He’d known she would choose it, was equally unsurprised by the hat, and was only glad that there was no accompanying necktie.

“I’m starting to wonder if your eyelashes aren’t real.”

She laughed dryly. “Of course they aren’t. Only men have lashes this long.”

“Why are women so jealous of us?” he asked. “Why can’t they just appreciate what they do have?”

“Please go change your shirt,” she requested sternly.

Obeying her would require him to cross the threshold, and he had been avoiding joining her in the small room.

He stayed where he was. “Can I ask you something?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Do you own like two hundred pairs of shoes?”

“Fifty pairs. If I buy a pair, I get rid of a pair.”

“Does that slow you down?”

“More than you’d probably think.” She grabbed the hanging shirt and held it out to him.

“Thanks.”

“Yes, I’d like you to tuck it in.”

“I wasn’t going to ask.”

“Yes, you were.”

He frowned at her and took the shirt to his office, where he quickly swapped the blue one he’d worn all day.

When he returned to the bathroom, Clara’s phone was flipped over, filming done, and she was cleaning up her products. She surveyed him critically. “I like it. This is a nice shirt.”

“Thanks.”

She adjusted the lay of the collar a little, brushed her hands over his shoulders, and then picked up a comb and ran it through his hair before covering his eyes and dousing him with hairspray.

“Thanks, Mom,” he rasped, coughing.

“Don’t want you getting hat hair.”

“Want me to shave?”

“No. You look good with a little stubble. It’s like nature’s contouring,” she said, tossing the remaining items into her bag.

When she turned to face him again, he took a moment to study her sparkling eye makeup. He’d had his doubts about it, but it didn’t look half bad.

She smiled. Then she reached back into her makeup bag for a little tub. She opened it, rubbed her ring finger into it and reached up to dab it onto his lips.

Their eyes met and he was pretty sure she turned a little pink, but she finished what she was doing.

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