Page 26 of Saved By Noel
Ireallycan’t believe he answered.
Although he’s not answering my accusation now. “Clark . . . Don’t. You. Dare unplug my lights.” The sound of Chase barking is the only response on Clark’s end.
“I will look up the police department and contact them about a trespasser,” I threaten.
“Oh yeah? Who do you think Larry is going to side with? You, or me—the guy he’s known since first grade, who also happens to be the founding father’s descendant and current mayor?”
“Wow, really inflating that self-importance, aren’t we? I’ll do some digging into your genetic connection to George Washington and see what turns up.”
“Har har.”
“Clark? Stay away from my cabin.”
Silence. Then a huffed, “Fine. I’m turning around.”
“Now, if you’re done plotting felonies, I need to get back to work,” I say.
“Unplugging unwanted Christmas lights is hardly a felony,” he grumbles. Barking sounds again, and I hear a muffled, “Stop it, Chase.”
I can’t help but crack a smile as I respond. “I’m sure trespassing and property damage could be inflated to amount to a felony. I am a writer, you know—I could be exceedingly convincing in my police report.”
“You clearly don’t know how small towns work.”
“Besides, texting while driving is also illegal in some places. And I caught you in the act,” I chide.
“You know, there’s this genius thing called a smart phone that lets you voice to text,” he retorts.
We’re both silent for a long pause. Just as I’m opening my mouth to say goodbye, Clark clears his throat and asks, “When are you coming back to the cabin?”
Surprise has knocked the words right out of me, but Clark rushes to fill in my silence. “I didn’t know if you needed someone to water the plant if you’d be gone a while.”
“Are you trying to trick me into giving you permission to be on my property so you can conveniently disable the Christmas lights?” I ask, giving in to a small smirk.
“What?! No!”
“Kidding. But no, I brought her back with me this time. She’s sitting right here next to me in my office. Taking up way too much of my personal space.”
“Oh.”
“Thanks for thinking of it, though,” I say, taking a baby step to test out this bridge he seems to be rebuilding between us.
“Well, next time you can leave it here. I already know the watering drill.” Clark clears his throat and abruptly says, “Take care, then.”
“You too—” the words are barely out of my mouth before the call has ended.
What in the Magic Eye illusions are you, Clark Noel?
I think about the books of optical illusions my parents always had at the house. It’s the perfect metaphor. I just can’t bring the true Clark into focus. There’s obviously a cohesive image below the surface-level mess of colors and patterns. But it’s not making sense yet. He’s not making sense.
And gosh darn it, there’s suddenly nothing I want more than to figure out the hidden picture beneath Clark Noel’s confusing exterior.
A teardrop trickles down my cheek, closely followed by the gathering stream.
Magical snow slowly falls from the rafters, gathering in small drifts between twirling pointe shoes.
The Snow Pas de Deux has always been my favorite scene inThe Nutcracker. I’m sure that was directly influenced by Aunt Gloria’s opinion—it was her favorite to perform, even more than the Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy.
It’s our first time to watch the ballet without Aunt Gloria sitting next to us.
