20. Clark
Chapter twenty
Clark
I pull into the parking lot of Deer River Bar and turn off the engine. Davis invited me to join him and Syd for dinner and wouldn’t take my “no” for an answer. I’d dropped Chase off with Pops for the evening, figuring Pops could benefit from the company as much as Chase would appreciate not being left home alone.
The sinking feeling in my stomach sinks deeper every time I visit Pops. He’s had a defeated air about him ever since we moved his bedroom down to the main floor, even though he tries to hide it. The colder weather combined with the arthritis has him hobbling around worse than ever. Of course, he’s too stubborn to use the cane his doctor suggested.
At least Pops has been taking the medication the doctor prescribed him, although doctor’s orders were that regular movement and activity coupled with the meds would be the most effective. Pops doesn’t seem interested in following those orders, though.
Maybe Chase can convince him to throw the ball or play some gentle tug-of-war. Anything to get Pops using his hands and moving around.
Sighing, I get out of the truck and walk up to the bar. Looks pretty busy tonight, though that’s not a surprise when the pizza shop is its only competition. The other restaurants in town decided they couldn’t recoup operating costs to stay open all winter. It’s a fact that looms over me, alongside the growing list of families who have checked out of Noel.
I open the door to a cacophony of noise. Lively conversations, cooks calling up orders, the clink of glasses at the bar, and boots clanking on the small dance floor. All mixed with a twanging undercurrent of country music. This crowded bar is just about the last place I’d like to be tonight. But Davis pestered me with a bunch of guilt-ridden comments about mingling with the town, staying connected with the people who have been loyal to me my whole life.
Manipulative excuse for a friend.
Scanning the tables, I see Davis right as he calls out “Clark! Over here!”
I take a step in his direction but come to an abrupt stop. Because Davis and Syd aren’t alone at that table. A third seat is taken by the in-the-flesh version of the phantom woman haunting my dreams. One of the can lights in the ceilings is placed just so over Clara’s head, illuminating her strawberry-blond curls with a glowing halo.
By the saucer size of her eyes and blanched skin, I’d place an all-in bet that she also had no heads up about my presence tonight.
I snap my eyes back to Davis, meeting his bemused expression with my best “you’re a dead man” scowl. Syd has the audacity to swivel in her seat and full-on grin at me, eyes dancing with delight.
Since Davis has already drawn attention to my entrance, I can’t turn around and walk out without it being obvious. The thought still crosses my mind, but then I remember my vow to Chase that I’d be civil to Clara. Booking it out of the bar at the mere sight of her probably wouldn’t qualify as civil.
I make my way over to the table, taking the empty seat between Davis and Clara. “Davis, Syd,” I greet with a stiff nod. Then I turn my attention to the exact person I’ve been trying to steer it away from. “Clara, good to see you again. When did you get back to town?”
She swallows hard. The resulting twitch of her lips and bob of her throat does not aid my efforts to absolve my thoughts of her. I know exactly what I’ll be thinking about all night now. That and the way her navy blue shirt makes her eyes pop even more than they already do on their own.
“Clark, hi,” she answers softly, her eyes flitting briefly to Syd’s. Clara clears her throat and continues, “I got back yesterday. Just here for a long weekend, so I’ll be going back to KC on Monday.” Her eyes have been shifting around, not daring to look me straight on for more than a split second at a time.
I notice her twirling that ring on her finger as she exhales a deep breath. Her eyes finally find mine and stick. “Um, thank you for getting the lights down for me. And for the rocking chair. It’s absolutely gorgeous.”
She tucks a curl behind her ear, and my eyes follow the movement. Now it’s my turn to swallow hard, momentarily wonderstruck into silence.
Get a grip, Clark!
“Uh, you’re welcome,” I half speak, half grunt. I want to tell her that it’s a Pops original chair, but that would require explaining who Pops is. And that’s more words than I trust myself speaking right now. A quick glance around the table confirms that Davis and Syd are living their best lives in this moment.
“We were filling Clara in on what’s good to eat here,” Syd chirps, filling the awkward silence. Well, Syd and Davis aren’t acting awkward at all. The awkward silence for the other half of the table.
“Just don’t order the soup of the day. You’ll regret it later tonight,” I offer, making an attempt at conversation.
Clara smiles, first at me and then at Sydney. “That’s what Syd told me. Something about a pot full of questionable leftovers and living on a prayer. Davis tried to dare me, but I don’t think I have the gamble in me tonight.”
Watching Clara smile, listening to her talk about Davis and Syd like old pals of hers—something about it hits me, hard as a sucker punch. I hope I didn’t visibly flinch.
I cross my arms on top of the table, trying to ground myself. “The burgers are fail-safe, and pretty much anything fried. You can’t come here hoping for diet food,” I add, and Clara bursts out a laugh.
Good lord, I’d do anything to hear that laugh again.
NO! No, you wouldn’t, Clark. Her laugh is no different from Sydney’s or Emily’s or any other woman’s in this town.
How long are you gonna keep lying to yourself?
I’m saved from my crippling inner dialogue by Jake coming over to take our order. He’s a junior in high school, but because his dad owns the bar, he gets roped into working here most weekends. He’s been slightly less enthusiastic about life lately. Understandable, since multiple of his friends have moved away. Considering that Noel already has to combine with a few nearby towns to share a high school, each student who moves on leaves behind a noticeable absence. I’m not sure how I would have coped if Davis or Beau had moved away during high school. I’ll leave an extra-large tip for Jake tonight.
Syd orders chicken tenders, Davis gets the fried catfish, and I ask for a bacon cheeseburger plain. I try to ignore the skip in my heartbeat when Clara copies my order. When Jake takes our menus and leaves the table, Clara speaks up first, asking me, “Where’s Chase tonight?”
“I dropped him off at Pops’ house on the way here so he wouldn’t be alone,” I answer. Clara props her chin on her hand, leaning forward and listening intently as Davis and I take turns explaining the legendary Bill “Pops” Allen. It’s the perfect opportunity to explain why her porch rocking chair is extra special.
“How was Pops when you saw him today?” Davis asks.
“I don’t know. Not great.” I sigh, rubbing a hand across my beard. “’Course, you never get a straight answer from him. But he’s not moving too good, and I’m not sure that anything is motivating him to change that.”
Clara’s brow furrows adorably. “What’s wrong?"
“Pops has arthritis that’s slowly getting worse. Mentally, he’s still sharp as a tack, but his joints, not so much,” I explain. “Ever since Bev passed a couple years back, he hasn’t been motivated to take care of himself.”
A spark lights in Clara’s eyes, and she purses her lips. “We have to help him!” She exclaims it so earnestly that I’m bowled over by the urge to wrap her in my arms against my heart. I shake my head to clear the thought.
Clara mistakes my head shake as a negative reaction to her suggestion and doubles down. “Even if he acts like he doesn’t want help or doesn’t want to take care of himself, that doesn’t mean we listen. Not if we care about him. We find a way to help, anyway.”
The multiple uses of the word “we” in that sentence have me thinking about doing a lot more than just pulling her against my chest now.
Syd chimes in to back Clara up. “Clara’s right. Pops is way too special to let him decline so quickly, cantankerous as he may be. Can we get him started making furniture again?”
Davis answers. Which is good, since I don’t trust my mouth to not say out loud the thoughts swirling in my mind. “I don’t know that Pops could manage making furniture anymore. That’s a lot of heavy lifting, not to mention dangerous machinery. I don’t think it would be safe.”
We pause the conversation as Jake sets our plates of food in front of us. Syd offers the ketchup bottle to Clara, but she declines. “Can’t taste the char of the burger if it’s watered down by a bunch of condiments,” she says before taking a huge bite. I take a bite of my own ketchup-less burger to hide my small smile.
“Now, back to Pops,” Clara says before she’s completely swallowed her food. “Could he make something smaller scale? Wood signs or trays or something similar?”
I think about the carved blue birds on Pops’ night stand. “He used to do some whittling, made animal carvings way back when. It’s been a long while since he’s done that, though. I’m not sure he’d be interested in picking it back up.”
“Well, it’s worth suggesting to him. Don’t give up before you even try, Mr. Cynical,” Clara counters back. Davis snorts a laugh, trying to cover it up with a cough.
“Fine, I’ll ask him,” I respond evenly before shoving a fry in my mouth.
Clara gives a small, pleased toss of her head, which sends her curls bouncing and my blood through a broiler. I take a long chug of water.
Sydney keeps the conversation moving throughout dinner, asking Clara lots of questions about her life that I’m keen to hear answers to. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think Syd is doing this mini deep-dive into Clara’s life more for my benefit than hers. Actually I do know better, and I know for sure that’s what she’s doing. I try to work up some irritation toward Syd for meddling, but I’m secretly too pleased to learn more about Clara.
She talks about her job, her absent roommate, her best friend, Madison, and her upbringing with her parents and aunt. Clara’s voice is hesitant as she talks about her dreams of writing more creatively, but Davis pummels her with question after question until she finally confesses.
“Watching Heartmark movies transports my mind back to my childhood, watching with my mom or Aunt Gloria. It’s a sweet nostalgia that I want to provide for the next generation, I suppose,” Clara concludes, a slight blush on her cheeks. Although she doesn’t exude the same blatant eagerness as when she talked about helping Pops, there’s a quiet joy radiating as she shares about her writing dream.
A hundred follow-up questions swell in my throat, begging to be asked. To understand more about what makes Clara tick, where this dream was born, how she plans to pursue it, what else makes her happy. I take a bite of my burger to stop any of them from coming out.
Clara turns the conversation around, asking Davis about running Deer River Floats. By the time Davis finishes telling her all the ins and outs of a river float experience company, we’re finished with our food. Jake clears our plates, and without the distraction of the food, Syd’s eyes bounce around the room enough to notice a few couples dancing.
“Oh this is the best song! Clara, do you know how to two-step?” she asks.
“Definitely not,” Clara answers. “Please tell me we can still be friends if I don’t enjoy country music.”
Syd claps a hand to her chest like she’s been shot. I roll my eyes at her theatrics.
“In the name of maintaining our friendship, I’ll do my best to overlook your obvious lack of taste in music. You’re lucky you’re one of the few women my age in town.” Syd winks, and Clara laughs good-naturedly. I frown, realizing the toll that Abby and Beau leaving must have taken on Syd.
Sydney continues teasing Clara, though. “Even if you don’t listen to country music on your own, I insist you learn to two-step if you’re going to keep coming around here. Davis can teach you—he’s the best two-stepper in the county.”
Davis puffs up his chest at the compliment from Syd, leaning over to kiss her on the lips. “Anything to impress my woman.” Syd clasps Davis’ cheeks and kisses him again. An uncomfortable heat flushes my neck, but Clara is simply smiling at them. Davis stands up and holds a hand out to Clara, which she accepts. I hear him explaining the “quick, quick, slow” basics to her as they walk toward the other couples dancing.
I should make conversation with Sydney, but I can’t tear my eyes from the sight of Clara dancing with Davis. She may not know how to two-step, but those ballet lessons she mentioned taking as a child clearly set her up for success in any form of dance. Her movements are graceful as she follows Davis’ lead around the floor, her furrowed brow the only indication that she’s concentrating.
Davis is my best friend. He’s happily married. I know that he has zero interest in Clara. Not to mention, I keep telling myself that I have zero interest in Clara. But the primitive part of my brain isn’t processing that information. Instead, it’s sending all sorts of “competitor moving in on woman” caveman instincts to my body. My heart is pounding, my breathing is shallow, my eyes are seeing red, and my grip on the water glass might leave my hand permanently cramped in this position.
The sound of Syd’s snort forces me to glance over. She’s not even attempting to hide the glee on her face. “Why don’t you take me for a spin around the dance floor, Clark?” My attempt to turn her down with a scowl doesn’t deter her. Thirty seconds later, Syd and I are also on the dance floor.
“I know you know how to do this, you big grump.” Syd ribs me. I lead her through the steps, but my eyes can’t help but find Clara every few seconds. The dance floor isn’t large, so it doesn’t take long for us to bump into Davis and Clara.
“Sorry, girl—I’m going to have to cut in on my hunk of a husband now,” Syd proclaims cheerfully. She twirls herself out of my arms at the same time Davis twirls Clara into them with such finesse, there’s no way they didn’t rehearse this move ahead of time.
They’re both manipulative excuses for friends.
Clara freezes, likely about to take flight away from this uncomfortable setup. I should take flight, should suggest we go back to the table. But that primitive part of my brain is locked in on the soft skin of her hand in mine. The blue of her eyes up close. Her pumpkin spice scent filling my nostrils.
After a split-second’s hesitation, I resume the quick-quick-slow movements to guide Clara on the floor and keep her body close to mine.
“So, is the two-step a class you take in school down here?” Clara asks, voice breathy.
Her joke catches me off guard, and I laugh. Her eyes warm in response, crinkling at the edges as she smiles. I could lose myself in those eyes.
“You caught us—we forgo subjects like chemistry in the name of two-step fluency,” I reply. A blush of pink shades the skin beneath her freckles. I wasn’t purposely making a chemistry joke. But I’m earning an A+ in science class, given the bubbling reaction burning inside me, hotter and hotter the longer she’s in my arms.
The music changes tempo as “Can’t Take My Eyes Off You” by Lady A starts playing. Clara’s hand tenses in mine as the surrounding couples sway to the slower beat. I ignore the alarm bells sounding in my mind and drop my right hand slightly lower to her waist, pulling her a touch closer to a more natural slow-dance position.
Clara relaxes slightly, following my lead. Her left hand slips down from its two-stepping position on top of my shoulder until her palm is resting on my chest. Her fingertips are gentle on my shoulder, but they may as well be lit sparklers for the heat they’re shooting through my back and chest.
In sync with the song lyrics, I’m finding it difficult to take my eyes off Clara’s. My attention is diverted to her mouth, however, when she licks and purses her lips. Like she’s trying to stop herself from saying something, or doing something with those lips. The same way I am. The tension between us is inching into dangerous territory, so I clear my throat. “Um, it seems like you and Syd have hit it off.”
My comment breaks the spell, and Clara blinks twice. She shakes her head slightly before glancing over at Syd and Davis nearby. There’s no room for Jesus between them, and their googly-eyed expressions are more akin to high schoolers than a married couple in their thirties. Clara huffs a small laugh at the sight before returning her eyes to mine.
“Absolutely. Syd is full of life. And easy to talk to. I’m excited to get to know her even better the more time I spend here,” Clara responds. Her voice starts off breathy, but gathers strength as she talks. “And Davis is a hoot, not to mention little Addie and Junior. I’m excited to spend more time with all of them.”
I’m completely lost in her gaze, drowning in the deep blue sea of her eyes. “You’re not wearing contacts,” I comment without thinking, and those blue eyes widen.
Great going, man. Just admit to intensely studying her eyes. Subtle.
“I mean, ah, you were wearing glasses that night I brought your plant to your cabin,” I stumble to recover. Unfortunately, there’s no recovery from my initial comment that sounded more like a confession.
“Oh, yeah, I have twenty-twenty vision, but my eyes don’t focus the way they’re supposed to,” she explains. Although her eyes appear perfectly focused on mine. “The prescription helps my eyes stay in focus so they don’t get as tired. I always wear them when I’m working or reading, but not when I’m out and about.”
I’m suddenly uncomfortably hot, chest tight. Maybe it’s the lyrics to the song playing, maybe it’s the intoxicating proximity of Clara’s body close to mine. Maybe it’s my blundering admission about staring into her eyes, maybe it’s hearing her talk about my best friends like they’re her friends too. Or, maybe the combination of everything finally breaks the gauges of my internal warning system.
You’re already losing yourself. Back away, Clark!
I abruptly stop dancing, breaking off physical contact with Clara. “Um, I think I should go pick up Chase from Pops’ place before it gets too late. Old man needs his rest. I’ll see ya around.”
The stunned expression on Clara’s face—far too similar to the face she had when I crumpled her paper—grips my heart with guilt. But not enough to negate the urgent need to put space between us.
I toss some cash on the table for Jake and hightail it out of the bar.