Page 16 of Saved By Noel
“You mean the mayor of the city only has office hours on Mondays?” I question, my big-city roots showing.
“No ‘s.’ Hour, singular,” Emily clarifies. “He has one office hour a week, Mondays from 10:00-11:00 a.m.”
I’m too bewildered to respond. Emily pushes a button on the receipt machine to push out some blank paper, scribbling on it. “Here, this is the address of the mayor’s office. And that’s my phone number. You come back here and see me or give me a call any time you need something, sugar.” She hands it to me and proceeds to ring up my purchases. I hand over my credit card without saying anything, too stunned to make conversation.
My manners overcome my disillusionment enough to thank Emily for her help. “By the way, what time does the coffee shop next door open in the morning?” I ask.
Emily frowns and gives a sad shake of her head. “I’m afraid it’s closed for the season. Not enough people around town anymore to make it worth Becky’s time keeping it open except during the summer tourist season. Most of the town will be closed up till April, at least.”
Nodding my head in resigned acknowledgment, I carry my groceries out to my car. I fight back tears as I make my way to the cabin, punching in the code to unlock the door and carrying the bags inside.
The fatigue of the past month, combined with the despondency of Emily’s revelations, drive my steps to the bedroom. I quickly change into flannel pajamas and fall into bed. My mind is too disenchanted to entertain optimistic thoughts of seeing Clark again. I slip into a fitful sleep.
I wake the next morning with righteous indignation in my bones.
How dare they not get into the Christmas spirit?! Even if the town was originally named for some old guy named Noel-rhymes-with-hole, how could they not embrace the alternate pronunciation, at least during the Christmas season?! This is outrageous.
My adrenaline is pumping, courtesy of my ranting thoughts, plus two cups of coffee. I stomp up to the door of the small office space in an otherwise abandoned commercial building. I glance at the sign on the door: Office of Mayor C. J. Noel.
Of course, nepotism would be the only reason a slacker, who only deigns to see people for an hour a week, could be voted as mayor of this town.
I’m notoriously terrible at conflict (i.e., I avoid it at all costs). So, I pause to huff out a breath and gird up every ounce of displeasure I can muster. Whipping the door open, I square my shoulders, raise my chin, and call out loudly, “Excuse me? I’m here to file an official complaint.”
The rest of my words die off when I make eye contact with the mayor.
With him.
Clark.
Chapter twelve
Clark
“Clara?”
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 againhere, 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 areyoudoing 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’reC.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.
