Page 49 of Saved By Noel
“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 Iwantis 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 beverydisconcerted. 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.
