12. Clark
Chapter twelve
Clark
“ C lara?”
A tangle of thoughts bursts through my mind at the sight of her standing in my office. Confusion about why she’s here. Agitation at seeing her again here , in my context as mayor. Unbridled pleasure at the sight of those strawberry curls I’ve been trying not to dream about.
My eyes drink her in until I remember the walls, and I shut down my reaction to her. The phrase “file a complaint” finally registers in my mind, pricking my annoyance.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, rising to my feet and rounding my desk. Chase follows my movement from his spot by my chair, but I motion him to sit. I don’t know if Clara is comfortable around dogs or not.
“I, I’m just . . . what are you doing here?” Clara asks, looking thoroughly bewildered.
“This is my office.”
Clara whirls around, peering toward the door. She spins back to me. “But you’re Clark. You’re . . . you’re the mayor? You’re C. J. Noel?” she finally pieces together, spitting my last name like it’s distasteful in her mouth.
I raise an eyebrow. Now I’m the one who’s bewildered. Why’s she acting so weird?
“Yes.” I keep my answer simple.
“But, I thought you were the town handyman.”
“Also yes. I’m both.”
Her eyes travel down to Chase by my side. “You have a dog in here.”
This is far beyond weird.
“Yes, I have a dog in here.”
“The mayor of the town keeps a dog in the office during his one hour a week on duty. And you’re him. The mayor of Noel. ”
I glance down at Chase, who whines and paws at the floor, begging to go over to Clara. Like he senses her discomfort.
Which, honestly, wouldn’t take an intuitive dog to figure out. She’s obviously spiraling. Her cornflower eyes are wide as saucers, and the color has drained from her face. It makes her freckles stand out even more.
“I’m so stupid,” she whispers so softly I barely hear it. “I can’t believe this. This, this is just . . .” the volume of her voice creeps up with each word until she practically yells, “I’ve been hoodwinked!”
She turns on her heel, moving to march right out of my office, but Chase lunges and cuts off her exit. He stands directly in front of her, wagging his tail and giving her his irresistible puppy eyes. He raises a paw in the air but waits for her to initiate touch with him.
Clara reaches a hand down for Chase to sniff, letting him smell her before scratching him. Chase takes it as an invitation to nudge his head under her hand, demanding ear scratches and chest rubs.
Thankfully, Chase’s distraction gives me the seconds I need to collect myself enough to respond. “Clara, what are you talking about? Why did you come in here? And how were you hoodwinked? Also, who even uses the word hoodwinked anymore?”
My line of questioning apparently reinfuses the bluster that Clara had lost in the shock of seeing me. She pivots back to face me with renewed agitation on her face.
“I came in here to file a complaint against your city, Mayor Noel. I was hoodwinked into believing that this town of No-el would be brimming with Christmas cheer. That I was purchasing a property in a city that would celebrate its Yuletide roots,” she says. The fire blazing in her eyes could easily ignite a Yule log.
It takes everything in me to tamp down the attraction to that fieriness burning through me. I focus instead on the insult of her words. The insult against my family name, against my management of the town.
“Imagine my surprise when I pulled into town last night and found zero Christmas spirit. Not a trace! How dare a town called ‘No-el’ not celebrate Christmas! It’s just . . . wrong !” Clara finishes, arms crossed and glaring at me.
I narrow my eyes back at her. “First of all, this town isn’t called ‘No-el.' My ancestors founded and named the town, and our last name is pronounced ‘Nole.' Second of all, we don’t advertise any kind of Christmas festivities because we don’t have any Christmas festivities. Every generation of the Noel family has guarded against the town being turned into some sort of gimmicky, holiday tourist destination. Any expectations to the contrary you may have had were your own. My town is not to blame for your assumptions.”
“But that doesn’t make any sense,” Clara accuses. “Everywhere I turn in this city, businesses are boarded up and closed. The town looks dead .”
I try not to flinch, but the barb hit its mark. My defenses spring into place, triggered by the fear that I’m failing at my one job as mayor—holding this town together.
“Even if your dear ol’ ancestors didn’t want to host any Christmas festivities, why not embrace the opportunity to draw more people now? It could breathe life back into the town again, boost the economy for an extra couple of months of the year.”
Clara maintains her glare in my direction, jutting her chin and straightening to her full height, trying to make her point. Her thumb wildly spinning the ring on her index finger is the only crack in her composure. But I was born for stubborn stare-downs. I cross my arms and mirror her stance without answering.
Chase’s head jerks frantically back and forth between us, unsure which of us needs emotional support more. Even though it’s clearly Clara.
Her chin quivers, and she turns away muttering, “I can’t believe this. Can’t believe it’s you.” She hurries to the door and flings it open. Halfway out, she fires back over her shoulder, “I want my plant back, if she’s even still alive!”
Then she’s gone, Chase whining as he watches the door close. He scratches his paw against my leg, trying to comfort me.
“I don’t need it, boy. I’m just fine.”
At least, I’ll keep insisting to myself that I am.