Page 33 of Saved By Noel
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. Iknowthat he has zero interest in Clara. Not to mention, I keep telling myself thatIhave 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 takeme 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.
