Page 75 of Clara Knows Best

Kissing her had been great, but being kissed by her had been one of the highlights of his mundane little life. Sweet and fierce, that was Clara. Just exactly what you’d expect from her, come to think of it. No one had ever kissed him like that, and the unfortunate takeaway was that now he hated,hated,to think of her kissing anyone else.

He needed to get back to Austin, where he wouldn’t have a front-row seat toThe Clara Show.

There was another knock at his door, this time the woman herself.

“One of Mrs. Nuñez’s friends just brought another covered dish for you. I put it in the freezer.”

“Oh. Thanks.”

“Yoli’s done with her, you know.”

“Yeah, she told me. I was just reading your mom’s notes.”

Clara smiled—not a real smile. The kind a woman gives you when you pass her on the sidewalk or accidentally make eye contact with her in an elevator—not too friendly, not too unfriendly, and utterly joyless.

He was feeling a little mopey himself.

26

“Can you give me a ride home?”

She hesitated. A flat refusal would be rude. “Why?” she asked instead.

“I don’t feel like driving. You’re going there anyway. Can’t I ride with you?”

She knew her reluctance was obvious to him, but she really didn’t want to be stuck in a car with him for twenty minutes or more. The unease she was feeling was foreign to her nature, and she didn’t quite understand how to interpret it, or how to get rid of it. She only knew it grew worse when he was around. “It’s only two turns, remember?”

“That was the lidocaine talking. It’s not talking anymore.”

“I have to go to the store.”

“That’s not a deal breaker for me,” he said dryly.

“Yoli—”

“She left,” he interrupted. “We can take your mom’s car. The tires are probably way better than yours anyway, and it’s pretty wet out there.”

“Fine,” she said, ungraciously.

“Cool. Heads up.”

He tossed the car keys towards her, and she sidestepped neatly. They landed on the floor and slid. She gave him a look, picked up her umbrella and purse, and went outside.

“You seriously couldn’t catch that?” he asked when he joined her on the porch. He handed her the key and pulled the door shut, holding it while she locked it because the bolt wouldn’t slide otherwise.

“Men throw things to each other. Women don’t. When you give keys to a woman, you hand them to her.”

“Bad mood, huh?”

“I’m not in a bad mood,” she replied primly, opening her umbrella.

“You’re pissy because we made out.”

“Nope.”

“Then why don’t you want to give me a ride home?”

“I have to go to the store,” she said again.

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