9
He was startled by his appearance in the mirror the next morning, and as he shaved he kept marveling at the soft smoothness of his skin and thinking about all the crazy things Clara had said.
There was no chance of him buying the Del Amos’ cabin, of course. Even if he were in the market for a second home, which he wasn’t, and even if he liked to hunt, which he didn’t, he would not saddle himself with an ugly 170s shack in the Davis Mountains that was full of some other family’s dusty junk. The fact that it was a big enough shack to sleep twenty people only made it worse, because the whole thing probably needed renovating down to the studs.
The land around it was phenomenal, sure. But the property taxes alone must be crippling.
Still, he had a bad feeling—almost a gut-wrenching fear, really—that if he spent the weekend there Clara would somehow manage to talk him into making an offer on it.
His hosts were having coffee on the porch when he left for work.
“Little cold, isn’t it?”
Dr. Wilder was bundled up but looked happy. When she spoke her breath was visible. “It’s okay for a few minutes with a hot drink. How do you like my car?”
“It’s all right,” he said, unlocking the Maserati with the fob. “Kinda flashy.”
“What do you drive in Austin?”
“A Toyota.”
She laughed into her coffee.
“What time does she leave?” he asked in consternation, seeing that Clara’s car was gone. “I thought I was running early today.”
“All of my children are obsessed with punctuality. I blame their father.”
“Clara won’t be rushed,” the Colonel said mildly. “An early start is her only hope.”
Jesse didn’t even want to know how many steps her hygiene routine had. “Well, see ya.”
“Have a good day,” Grace Wilder said with a smile.
“It doesn’t matter if I have a good day or not,” he said, distrusting the smile. “It won’t change anything.”
She chuckled into her coffee cup again.
He gave her a hard look before sliding into the front seat and shutting his door.
Once on the highway, he called Clara.
“Hey, Jesse,” came her voice, pleasant and wide awake.
“Hey, what’s a good place to get breakfast around here?”
“Home.”
“I already left. Where else?”
“Daily Bread has bagels and muffins. Otherwise, there’s Mexican, the diner, smoothies, or fast food.”
“You want a burrito?”
Silence on the line.
“Never eating carne asada again? You want to meet me at the diner in about fifteen minutes?”
“Okay,” she said uncertainly.
“What’s the matter?”
“Are you trying to buy me breakfast because I gave you a facial? You don’t have to pay me back for that.”
He was surprised. “I wasn’t thinking about that.”
“So…are you asking me out?”
“What? No. Of course not.”
“Oh. Okay. Well, I already ate.”
“All right, fine,” he said in annoyance.
“Your first appointment is at eight,” she informed him, and hung up.
“Great, thanks,” he said to no one, tossing his phone onto the passenger seat.
He ended up driving through McDonalds and eating in the parking lot. His mood was pretty sour by the time he entered Romeo Family Health just behind Yoli.
It was not improved by Clara’s bubblegum pink dress and matching heels, or Yoli’s ear-splitting wolf whistle.
“Girl, this is your best look yet! Whole internet about to lose its mind!”
“Aw, thanks, Yoli. I’m actually going to post it tonight with my other Valentine’s Day outfit ideas. Oh, Jesse, the hospital left a voicemail for you.”
“Thanks,” he said shortly.
“My niece wants to go to that high school dance on Monday,” Yoli told Clara energetically as she removed her coat and scarf. “She’s begging me to chaperone.”
“I’ll do it with you,” Clara said. “Maybe I should make the STEM kids go, too.”
“You still don’t have plans yet?”
“Nope.”
“What are the men about?”
“The men are a little cagey this week.”
“You know what, I bet DeWitt Petty doesn’t have plans yet either.”
“Maybe I’ll give him a call,” Clara said, and they shared a laugh.
Peak humor.
Jesse went into his office and shut the door. Of course, he could still hear their conversation.
“Why don’t you ask You-know-who to be your Valentine?” came Yoli’s stage whisper.
“I asked him to karaoke last week. Turned me down flat.” Clara, of course, did not bother to lower her voice.
“But he still showed up, didn’t he?”
“Yeah. Maybe he and I could go to a nice restaurant and stay on opposite sides of the room all night. Oh, wait, there aren’t any nice restaurants.”
“Okay, he doesn’t sound very fun,” Yoli allowed. “But let’s not give up just yet. What about that new guy you were telling me about at the feed store? The one with the tats?”
Several seconds of silence passed.
“Oh, you mean the hardware store. Ed What’s-his-name’s nephew.”
“Yeah, the Marine,” Yoli said, warming up to the idea. “Why don’t you stop by there at lunch? I think we need some new light bulbs.”
“Seems kind of desperate,” Clara hesitated.
“I’m not saying you have to throw yourself at him. Just walk all around the store in that pink outfit. He’ll come to you.”
Clara laughed. “I’ll think about it.”
Jesse was glad when the first patient entered the waiting room and the gossiping behind the desk had to stop for the day.
He saw ten people before noon, four of them sick with the flu. He noticed for the first time that the hand sanitizer stations were accompanied by hand lotion stations, and used both.
“Hey, Yoli and I are getting salads from the diner,” Clara greeted him when he came out of an exam room. “Do you want me to pick anything up for you?”
“You know what, why don’t I pick it up?” he suggested abruptly. “I’d like to look at the menu.”
Clara smiled, but opened a drawer and produced a paper menu. “No need, Dr. F. Just let me know what you want.”
He took the menu but kept his gaze on the young woman seated before him. He did not like to think that he might have insulted her by insisting that breakfast wouldn’t be a date. She was a bit of a girly girl and had a few crazy ideas, but she had feelings like anyone else, and besides, he kind of liked her.
“Nice dress,” he offered. “Did you make it?”
“Sure did. Although I should probably disclaim that Victoria Beckham inspired it pretty heavily. Hers wasn’t pink, though.”
“Victoria Beckham, huh?”
“She’s a British designer.”
“Any relation to David Beckham?”
“Maybe. I think her husband’s name is David,” the fashionista replied indifferently.
Jesse had a nagging feeling that he should clear the air. He just didn’t know how to do that without making it worse. “Clara—”
The cell phone beside her keyboard rang. “Oops, sorry. Hold on.”
“Yep,” he agreed, and turned his attention to the menu.
“Hey, Birdie,” Clara said happily into the phone.
Elisabeth Wilder, called Birdie. Clara’s cousin and lifelong BFF.
A moment later, she added, “Put me on speaker and eat your lunch. How’s your day going? Uh, huh. Oh, Jesse’s doing great. The kids love him, but the old people have left some good feedback, too.” She smiled at him as she said it. “This morning, he asked me to meet him for breakfast, so I was like, ‘Is it like, a date?’ and he was like, ‘Ew, no.’”
Jesse rolled his eyes and threw the menu back at her, making her cackle gleefully. He grabbed his coat and headed for the door. “I’m picking up lunch.”
So much for Princess Clara having feelings like anyone else.