Chapter 17 Jack #2
Clara shrugs. “Resolving problems in Fraser Falls is my job right now. This is a problem, and I can easily help you. Then you can keep the answers for whenever you need them. Please let me help you.”
Having an empty inbox would be a weight off my shoulders, but there’s something tugging at my gut that doesn’t want to hand over my work laptop to Clara.
“You can’t be in my workshop while I’m running the machines because of health and safety. Can we do it together later?”
Her whole face brightens up. “Of course we can.”
“Because I’ve been the recipient of your emails, and I have a few concerns about the professionalism you’re going to give to my customers.”
I dodge the paper towel that’s thrown in my direction. “I should’ve left you freezing your ass off downstairs. Soupless.”
“Too late now.”
The afternoon passes surprisingly quick knowing my email problem is going to be taken care of soon.
I find myself smiling when I can hear her and Elf moving around above me while I’m working.
When I eventually clean up and take myself back upstairs, Clara is making a salad to go with the pizzas she put in the oven ten minutes ago.
“I think my mom was onto something with this housewife business, y’know? I don’t know why I try to prove myself to my dad when I could just get a husband and hang out with dogs all day.”
“You’d be bored without someone’s problems to interfere with.”
“I know,” she admits. “But it’s nice to pretend for a little while.”
I agree, it is nice to pretend.
Dinner is another meal that consists of Clara making me talk about myself. When she’s satisfied she’s heard enough about my elementary school crushes, we move on to a more controversial topic.
“It happens on Christmas Eve !” I say, almost knocking my soda can over with my arm. “At a Christmas party, for God’s sake! He says ‘Ho, ho, ho’ at one point. What’s more Christmassy than that?”
“But the main theme of the movie is violence and terrorism, not holiday spirit! I’m sorry, Jack, but Die Hard isn’t a Christmas movie. Bruce himself said it isn’t.”
I immediately reach for my cell and swipe away the messages from Tommy asking if Clara and I have murdered each other yet.
She’s wearing the smuggest grin I’ve ever seen as I furiously type on my phone to find out if Bruce Willis did say that.
I quickly find a YouTube video from a roast. “It’s AI,” I declare, locking my phone and putting it face down.
“The video from a million years ago is AI? That’s what you’re going with?”
“Listen, how about I find us a tub of Ben the smell of her shampoo fills the space between us. Coconut and something sweet. “Oh my God. What happened?”
She closes the laptop and twists to give me her full attention; her knee meets my hip, the length of her shin presses against my thigh. Her eyes are big and green, concerned and fully focused on me.
I rub the back of my neck. Give her a tight smile.
“I was just minding my business with my friends, having some drinks, trying to unwind from the week. I saw I had a work email and normally I wouldn’t check but I’d been super-aware of them, being behind and all.
So I checked it and honestly, I couldn’t believe it.
I tried to make sense of what she was unhappy about but then she resorted to name-calling. ”
Clara’s jaw drops; her pink lips form the perfect O shape. “That’s wild. What did she say?”
I drag my hand down my face, cover my mouth, squeeze my eyes tight. When I open them Clara is still staring at me with her doe eyes. I can’t laugh. “She called me a smart ass and broody bodyguard. What does broody bodyguard even mean? I—”
Clara’s fingers poke right in my ribs, winding me. She huffs and she twists back to her original position, her feet on the floor this time, the length of her thigh pressed against the length of mine again. Her shoulder sitting a little lower than mine. “I hate you. You’re writing the next email.”