30. Clara
Chapter thirty
Clara
HOTTIE McSCROOGE
Are you coming to Noel this weekend? I’d like to talk to you about something.
My eyes widen, and the gears stop turning in my brain as I stare at the text on my phone.
I really need to change his contact name .
Reading Clark’s text sets loose a net of moths in my stomach. I’d say butterflies, but he’s too confusing to associate with beautiful butterflies fluttering around in there. Definitely moths. Stirring up gray dust to float around my insides.
Clark hasn’t communicated with me since the night of our float trip. The night I was starting to think he felt the gravitational pull toward me as much as I did toward him. The night when he drew me in with his uncharacteristic vulnerability but then shoved me back away.
I’ve been dedicating time here and there to writing my script ever since that night. My main character, Jack, continues to sound more and more like a Clark clone, keeping him fresh in my mind. But I haven’t gotten over the emotional whiplash of that day. Which means I haven’t gone back to Noel.
Once again, my thumb acts before my brain thinks, and I hit the call button.
Clark’s gruff voice greets me after two rings. “What’s with you refusing to text and having to call all the time? Are you secretly two decades older than the rest of our generation?”
“Just had to be sure I wasn’t seeing things. Because what I thought I saw was you requesting for me to come to Noel to talk about something,” I respond, trying to keep my voice breezy. I stand up and close the door to my office.
“Congratulations. You can read,” Clark deadpans. One corner of my mouth twitches.
“What do you want to talk about?” I ask.
“Not sure if you caught on to this, but you called me. I didn’t call you. I simply texted like a normal person and asked if you’d be in town this weekend so we could talk. Talk then . Not talk now. ”
I twirl the ring on my finger, considering my response.
“Fine. Yes, I can come to Noel this weekend,” I say after a short pause. “But first, I need to know which version of Clark I’ll be talking with.”
“What the heck does that mean?” he growls.
“I mean, am I talking to the Clark who talked to me by the riverside fire, the one who rescued me from bathroom jail and took meticulous care of my plant? Or the one who trashed the list of ideas I worked on all night and hates me every time I say the word Christmas?”
There’s a moment of silence, and my pulse pounds in my ears. I can’t believe I said that out loud .
“Clara, I’ve never hated you. I could never hate you.” His voice is husky, only making my heart pound harder. “You’re the most un-hateable person in the history of the world.”
“I think Mother Teresa would disagree with you,” I quip back, trying to lighten the mood. Because I’m wobbling on thin emotional ice.
“All right, in the history of America,” Clark amends.
While I’m warmed by his sentiment, he hasn’t answered my question. “Well?”
I hear a sigh. “Clara, I’m . . . I’m sorry. It’s true I prefer solitude over being around people, but I swear I’m not usually outright mean. I don’t know how to explain why I’ve been rude to you in the past. But I am sorry that I’ve treated you poorly because that’s the last thing you deserve. I promise to be the better version of myself with you this weekend.”
Although I don’t have decades of history with Clark, I know him enough to recognize how hard that was for him to say. A pool of warmth puddles in my chest, slowly spreading through my limbs and up to my cheeks.
“I accept your apology, Clark. And I’ll see you this weekend.”
No sooner do I hang up than there’s a knock at the door.
“Come in!” I call. I stifle a sigh when Michael’s head pops in.
“Hey Clara, how’s the day going?” he asks, flashing me a too-wide grin.
“Fine, but busy,” I reply, not in the mood for small talk. “What do you need?”
Michael takes a seat in the small chair on the other side of my desk, settling his face into a frown. “Here’s the thing. I have two more articles scheduled to turn in tomorrow, but my girlfriend called, and she’s cat sitting for her cousin. The cat has been acting funny today. She’s so freaked out. I might need to go with her to the vet to get it checked out.”
I grit my teeth. “Your girlfriend’s cousin’s cat is acting . . . funny. And?”
He flashes another smile at me. “I was hoping you might be able to pitch in to help me out with the articles, so I can help my girlfriend out.”
Normally, I would acquiesce—say yes and stay late doing his work for him. A case of “toxic helpfulness,” as Mads likes to call it. Maybe it’s because I just got off the phone with Clark, but his doorstep accusation flashes through my mind. That I’m too busy helping other people to chase what I truly want. And what I want is to spend time working on my script tonight. I’ve had an idea for a dialogue exchange buzzing around in my head all day.
Michael appears disconcerted by the fact that I didn’t agree right away. But he’s about to be very disconcerted. Because I’m not going to.
“No, Michael.”
“I’m sorry?” he asks.
“No, I won’t take the articles for you. You’re going to need to figure out a way to get them done. Stay up late tonight, come in early tomorrow, whatever it takes. I expect polished articles to be finished by the deadline,” I say, strength growing in my voice with each word.
Michael looks flustered. “But, I just need a little assistance this once—”
“No, Michael, you consistently don’t complete your work on time and ask for ‘a little assistance,’” I emphasize with air quotes. Who am I right now?! I like it! I wish Mads was here to watch this! With popcorn!
He stares at me, as though unnerving eye contact will make me change my mind. I double down.
“I’m making a note in your personnel file that you’ve repeatedly missed deadlines and turned in less-than-quality work. This is your chance to turn things around, or I’ll be speaking to Mr. Douglas about your future here.” I stand up, effectively dismissing Michael.
His face conveys hand-in-the-cookie-jar energy as he slinks out of my office. As soon as he leaves, I exhale and fall back into my office chair, fighting the urge to squeal aloud. I look down at my hands, expecting to see power visibly surging from them.
I did it! I set a boundary! I can’t wait to tell Mads.
Then again, maybe I shouldn’t tell Mads. I’m not sure yet if I want to give her more reason to join “Team Clark.”
I take a half-day off work on Friday so I can drive down to Noel in time to make a supply run to Noland’s before dinner. Emily greets me enthusiastically but briefly, as there’s a long line of shoppers ready to check out. It’s a night-and-day difference during tourist season versus the dead of winter.
Stopping in at Becky’s Brews on my way to my car, I order a decaf special—a simple sweet cream iced coffee—to take home. I’m determined to take full advantage of quality coffee being available, even if it means being awake later tonight. Maybe it will fuel some writing hours.
I’ve barely had time to unload my groceries and take a few sips of coffee when I hear a loud knock. Startled, I tiptoe my way to the front door, standing to the side where I can see out the window without being seen.
Clark stands outside, baseball cap turned backward. His dark-gray t-shirt hugs the muscles of his biceps as he balances a pizza box in one hand. The other hand reaches up to rub across his beard, then knocks again.
“Clara?” he calls through the door. “It’s Clark. I, uh, saw your car back in town and decided to come over.”
I lightly run my hands over my loose curls, hoping they’re not too wild. I’m still wearing the athletic shorts and You Grow Girl Monstera plant graphic tee I wore for the drive, but I don’t have time to change.
What are you thinking, Clara?! You don’t need to dress up for him! Just answer the door.
I turn the knob and swing the door open, hit by a wave of woodsy sandalwood mixed with pizza. Unclear which smell I’m hungrier for.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, trying to divert my brain away from fixating on his scent. Chase is sitting at Clark’s feet but dances up when he sees me. Clark stills him with a command to sit before responding to my question.
“I told you I wanted to talk this weekend. And I come bearing gifts,” Clark answers, tipping up the pizza box. “I figured you would be hungry after the drive.”
I eye him without inviting him in yet. My hesitation is half confusion about him showing up here before I even told him I’d arrived. The other half is that I’m knocked off-kilter by how much I missed the sight of his hazel eyes, bearded jaw, and tall, muscular frame. Not to mention that darn tattooed arm I once traced my fingers over. A moment I’ve mentally replayed more times than I’ll ever admit to on record.
“How did you know I was in town?”
Clark flinches but quickly rolls his shoulders, as though he’s a teenager who got caught texting during class and tried to play it off. He raises his free hand to rub his beard again, looking around at the trees before resting his hand against the door frame. “I . . .” He sighs and locks eyes with mine. “I just knew.”
Now I’m the one feeling caught. I awkwardly stand staring at him, suppressing all the hormones screaming at my muscular system to move forward and lean into Clark’s chest.
I take a giant step backward. “Come on in.”
Closing the door behind Clark, I gesture toward the back of the house. “Why don’t we go sit on the back porch? I’ll get some plates and water.” Clark nods and heads toward the sunroom, Chase on his heels.
I take advantage of my few seconds alone in the kitchen to take a deep breath. I don’t know what Clark is here to talk about, but my brain has gone into full-on anticipation mode. Complete with a racing pulse and overactive underarm sweat. I stand in front of the open fridge for an extra few seconds before taking out the water pitcher.
A minute later, I approach the sliding back door balancing plates, two stacked glasses, the water pitcher, and my iced coffee like the one-trip champion I am. I pause when I see Clark standing on the porch, talking to Chase and gesturing with his hands like he’s giving a speech. Chase peers up at him, tongue hanging out of his mouth as he appears to nod along to whatever it is that Clark is saying. I’m mesmerized by the scene. Mesmerized by the man who still remains such a mystery.
Until he turns to the door and catches me staring.