Chapter 28 Jack
W HEN I WENT TO WORK I gave Clara one rule: text me if you need something—don’t get up from the couch, because you need to keep your foot elevated.
So obviously, I’m immediately pissed when I head upstairs to check on her and she’s in my kitchen making hot chocolate from scratch.
She looks guilty as hell when she looks up from the chocolate she’s chopping into smaller pieces.
“I can explain,” she says slowly.
“And I’d love to hear it.” She puts the knife down beside the chopping board, wipes her hands on a towel. “Start from the beginning, right when I told you to keep your ass on the couch.”
I walk around the kitchen worktop to her side; she presses her back into the counter, looking up at me with big green eyes when I stop in front of her.
I move the cutting board out of the way and grip her hips, lifting her onto the counter.
Her legs wrap around my waist, arms around my neck.
I breathe a little easier. “It honestly doesn’t hurt that bad. ”
I follow the curve of her jawline with the backs of my fingers. “That’s because your painkillers are working.”
“Have you considered I just heal faster than the average human?” Clara leans in, her nose nudging mine gently.
She smells so sweet and I want her so fucking bad.
I squeeze her thighs and she scoots to the edge of the counter so her body is as close to mine as it can be.
She kisses the corner of my mouth. “I promise I’m not as hurt as you think I am. ”
Tired of the teasing, I take her face in my hands and kiss her hard. Her being injured scratches at something inside of me that won’t soothe itself. I’ve always been slightly anxious around sick people, but there’s something about this that makes me want her in my line of sight.
I need this, to feel her real and breathing, and I think she does too. Her hands grip my hair, her breasts press into my chest. “This is not what bed rest looks like,” I murmur into her throat, kissing from her collarbone to her ear.
“Take me to bed then, Jack,” she says, her voice wispy.
“You’re a nightmare patient,” I whisper into her ear. I regain my senses. I don’t want to hurt her by accident. “You need to keep your foot elevated.”
“Why don’t we compromise? I’ll elevate it on your headboard.”
Senses are gone again. I swallow hard. “ Fuck. You’re not making it easy for me to be a good guy.”
“You started it. I just wanted to make a delicious festive drink.” I press my forehead against her shoulder. She kisses the tip of my ear. It feels like a tap-out. “Okay, I’ll behave.”
I kiss Clara slowly this time; she hums happily. “Thank you.”
Even though she groans in protest, she doesn’t fight me off when I lift her off the counter and walk her to the couch. Maybe it’s because her ass is in my hands and she thinks I’m taking her to my bedroom. “You’re taking this doctor thing far too seriously. I can walk.”
“I like holding you,” I admit.
There’s a span of quiet that stretches between us.
One that’s broken with Dove shouting, “Sailor, knock!”
Sailor bursts through the door. Dove is behind her, hand immediately covering Sailor’s eyes when she spots us in the middle of my living room.
We quickly untangle; Clara’s cheeks flush pink.
She’s quick to get herself on the couch, her foot propped up by cushions.
Maybe she isn’t as injured as I thought.
“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” Dove chants, moving her hand from Sailor’s eyes. “Sailor made you a get-well-soon card, Clara.”
Sailor hands the card to her mom and rushes to Elf’s couch, where he’s been sleeping all day. She climbs onto it with him, something she’s been doing since I brought him home when she was just a toddler.
Dove is giving me eyes that tell me she’s going to give me hell later as she crosses the room toward Clara. Deserved, I’ll admit. She hands the card to Clara and then looks back at me. “Shouldn’t you be working?”
“Shouldn’t you call before showing up uninvited?”
Dove checks Sailor isn’t paying attention, then flips me off. She folds her arms across her chest. “So you don’t want to hear about Flo being on the news tonight then?”
“Oh, I do!” Clara yells from the couch. She asked me to go across to Flo’s and get an update but I got distracted by a couple who came in wanting a quote to restore a grandfather clock they bought at a yard sale.
Dove dives into her story. Clara practically beams light as Dove tells her about the segment they recorded talking about the Santa run, the toy drive, and our recent very successful Small Business Saturday event.
They’re going to air it on the 7 p.m. news and post an article about us online because the producer was so charmed by Flo.
“Flo is on cloud nine. She’s been looking for you, Clara. ”
Clara looks like she’s about to dart off the couch and sprint across the street to Bliss. “You gotta rest your foot, ba—” I catch myself. “Basically. You basically gotta rest your foot, Clara.”
They both look at me like I’m losing it, which I might be. “You all right over there?” Dove asks, a blue-tinted eyebrow raised. “We have toy drive stuff to discuss if you want to make yourself scarce.”
“Perfect. I have work to do. Shout if you guys need anything.”
Clara shoots me an apologetic look, but I know she wants to talk about town things with Dove. As time rolls on and Clara does more for Fraser Falls, it leaves me wondering what else could be left in her plan.
D ESPITE OBVIOUS—AND WELCOME—DISTRACTIONS, TODAY HAS been one of the most productive days I’ve had in what feels like forever.
There’s a knock at my door. Dove pokes her head through with Sailor’s underneath. “We’re heading home. Have a nice night.” Dove winks and I’m glad she’s leaving so I don’t have to throw her out.
“Bye, Uncle Jack,” Sailor says in a far less loaded tone than her mom.
“Bye, sweetheart. Thanks for coming over.”
I lock up and make sure everywhere is clean for tomorrow.
Things aren’t as busy during the week compared to the weekend, but it’s still busier than weekdays the rest of the year.
Sometimes people take a few days’ vacation to stay here during the week to try to get a better rate.
It’s mostly parents with kids on the weekend.
I don’t know what I expect to find when I head upstairs. Clara cooking a three-course meal, probably. Her doing DIY, maybe. Definitely not what I do find, which is her asleep on the couch with her foot still on the pile of cushions.
She looks so peaceful. Long dark eyelashes, relaxed mouth, soft breaths. I throw a blanket over her and clear up the glasses and cookies left out.
Sunday is Italian night at Mr. Worldwide restaurant, so I put in an order for pizza. Elf curls up on the couch behind Clara’s knees while I schedule the TV to record all the different channels’ news broadcasts since Dove didn’t say which it was.
I feel like a kid waiting for their parents to wake up on Christmas. It feels like every other second my eyes flit to the woman sleeping across from me to check if her eyes are still closed.
I complete the boring jobs like laundry and clearing expiring food out of the refrigerator. I collect up the pile of drawings Sailor did and tuck them in the drawer of the coffee table beside my own toy sketches. Finally, this time when I look over her eyes are open.
“Hey, sleepy.” Clara leans against her elbow, looking around the room confused. There are pink lines on her cheek from where she’s fallen asleep against her hand, and her hair is frizzy on the side she slept on. “Want some pizza?”
“I slept so hard I forgot that I let you kidnap me.” She yawns into her hand and rolls her neck and shoulders to loosen up. “You made pizza?”
“I bought pizza.”
Her eyes narrow. “From where?”
“From a takeout place? Where else would I buy fresh pizza?”
Her eyes open wide like I just threw a bucket of cold water over her head. “I’ve been here for weeks and I’m just finding out there’s a pizza place? Where is it?”
“It’s less of a pizza place and more of a world culinary experience. It’s called Mr. Worldwide and it’s a converted barn about a mile past Dove’s place heading out of town. They do a different cuisine every day—Sunday is Italian night.”
“I saw that place on the map!” she says enthusiastically. “I didn’t look at what it was. I can’t believe I’ve been missing out all this time.”
“How’s your foot?” She lifts it in the air, wiggling it slightly as if to demonstrate her perfect health. “Wow, so much movement.”
“Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, Jack Kelly,” she muses. “It’s not that bad. A little stiff but I can walk on it. Which means I can totally get out of your hair and head back to Maggie’s.”
I don’t know why the idea of her leaving sucks so bad. “There isn’t pizza at Maggie’s… or pets. You don’t have a car to drive over to Mr. Worldwide to get your own pizza, so I think the most sensible thing for you to do is stay here.”
“Are you bribing me with pizza and your dog?” she asks, her voice light.
“I dunno. Is it working?” I really want it to be working.
“Absolutely. I wouldn’t be hard to kidnap with the right set of circumstances.”
I laugh as I stand to grab the pizza boxes from the table. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“It was nice of Dove and Sailor to visit, right?” she says, but it sounds more like a question.
“Yes. Dove clearly likes you a lot.”
It’s the most coy I’ve seen Clara, who usually oozes confidence. Her cheeks are flushed from her nap but I think there’s a small part that can be attributed to making a friend.
“Where’s this pizza you trapped me here with?”
T HE TOWN NEWSLETTER ARRIVES AT six thirty, letting us know where to find Flo on TV tonight. Clara literally bounces up and down in her seat beside me.
Clara clearly hasn’t considered, like I have, that Flo might have used her fifteen minutes to bash Davenport again. I’m surprised there hasn’t been another video after the original ones had a great impact on visitor numbers over the weekend.
I’m not against Davenport bashing and I never will be. But I am against Clara being upset and that puts me in a pretty tricky position.
“Hey, why don’t we save it and watch it with Flo tomorrow so she can see our live reactions? We could put a movie on.”
Clara twists to look at me, her eyebrows pinched together. “Are you serious?”
Serious that I want Tommy to watch it first and tell me if there’s anything that might upset Clara, yeah. “She’d love it. She loves theatrics, and if she gets to watch us gasp and cheer knowing we’re watching for the first time, she’ll be overjoyed.”
She sucks her bottom lip into her mouth and bites it. She thinks on it so long I start to sweat a little. “You know her better than I do, if you think she’ll like that, then sure, I guess. What movie do you want to watch?”
I rub at the back of my neck. “You choose.”
“ The Polar Express ?”
“The creepiest Christmas movie. Perfect.”
Five minutes into the movie and my alarm goes off, telling me to get Clara more painkillers. She argues she’s not even in pain anymore. I argue that it’s because the medication is working.
Ten minutes later, she’s asleep against my shoulder and there’s something in my gut telling me to enjoy it while I have it, because I won’t have it for much longer.