Page 18 of Saved By Noel
“Dawn!” I yell, exasperated.
“Well, neither did you!” she defends.
“But you’re the real estate agent. You’re supposed to know all this important stuff about properties!”
“Yeah, but you’re the buyer! People looking to buy houses usually do some reconnaissance about where they’re buying!”
Another deep breath in, out. Maybe I should have known to do more research on my own since Dawn is fairly new to real estate. Then again, I’m brand new to property ownership, so how was I supposed to know that I should Google the pronunciation of the town’s name?!
“There’s really no Christmas festival?” Dawn asks, contrition in her voice.
“No. There’s nothing,” I sigh.
“I’m sorry, Clara. I messed up. I should have investigated before I pitched the property to you,” Dawn says.
I sigh again. “It’s okay, Dawn. It’s not your fault. And the cabin itself is still amazing. Perfect, even. I just . . . I just need to adjust my expectations now, that’s all,” I reply, not wanting her to feel guilty.
Dawn’s on her way to meet a client, so I reassure her again that I’m not upset before hanging up. She’s not really the one I’m upset with, anyway.
I’m upset with myself. Upset that I constructed this fantasy of writing Christmas stories in a cabin in a picturesque Christmas town without bothering to see if it evenisa Christmas town.
Upset that I’ve spent the past month daydreaming about Clark, thinking there was some sort of connection between us, something remarkable abouthim. But he’s C.J. Noel—descendant of the Nole scrooges, an anti-Christmas crusader.
Not to mention, his cold response to me this morning made it perfectly evident that he hadn’t given me a second thought since I left. This was clearly one-sided onmyside.
I’m such an idiot.
Thankfully, rage is the perfect productive energy. I have my boxes unpacked and everything put away in record time. I evenhang up the Christmas decorations I brought with me, complete with a mini tree by the fireplace hearth.
At 5:00 p.m., I decide to make my own cocoon of Christmas cheer and put my writing desk to use. That’s the whole reason I bought this cabin. Even if the rest of the town doesn’t want to celebrate the season, I can still create my own inspiration.
I put my velvet robe on over my clothes and turn on strands of Christmas lights in the sunroom. Then, I make an extra-large cup of hot cocoa, complete with a heaping pile of whipped cream. My “Chill Christmas” playlist streams through my Bluetooth speaker, and I settle into the chair at my writing desk, glasses perched on my nose. The cursor on my laptop screen blinks at me as my fingers hover over the keyboard.
The chime of the doorbell jolts me out of my staring contest with the computer. Unless a neighbor is picking a peculiar time of day to welcome me to the neighborhood, odds are I know who’s ringing that bell.
I sulk and make him wait an extra minute before I amble to the door, confirming my suspicion with a peek out the window on the way. I unlock the deadbolt and open the door a crack.
“My Ficus!” I exclaim, opening the door and pulling the plant inside. Consequently, I’ve pulled Clark into the cabin as well. “Don’t let her get too cold!”
“It’s fine; it was only outside for a minute walking up from the truck,” Clark says. He’s still wearing the same gray Henley shirt that he had on this morning, but now a backward baseball cap makes him look more casual. Not that jeans and a Henley shirt are typical business attire for a mayor.
I inspect the plant with concern. I’m pleasantly surprised to see an impressive amount of new growth. Clark hands me a bottle of plant fertilizer—myfavoritebrand of fertilizer. “Here. I researched, and this was the fertilizer most people raved about. It’s what I’ve been adding to the water.”
“Itisthe best,” I murmur. I stare at Clark.
“Don’t look so shocked—it’s not that hard to keep a plant alive. I watered it a couple of days ago, so it should be good for another week or more.”
“Thank you,” I remember to say, setting the plant down on the coffee table in front of the couch. I straighten and shift awkwardly on my feet, unsure of what else to say. My awkwardness is equally matched by Clark’s eyes darting a crisscross pattern from me to anywhere else in the room and back on repeat.
“Well, you have the plant. I’ll just be going,” Clark says, turning to leave.
“Clark, wait,” I stop him. “I’m sorry about getting worked up earlier. I don’t want you to be upset with me.”
He simply nods, hazel eyes not truly meeting mine.
“I guess I don’t understand why a little holiday celebration would be so bad,” I press. “Christmas is kinda my thing. I could help. I’d love to help.”
Clark closes his eyes and sighs. “It’s . . . not worth it, Clara,” he responds. “I’ve lived here my whole life—generations of my family have lived in this town since the beginning of its existence. Please, can you just trust me and drop it?”
