Page 32 of Saved By Noel
At least Pops has been taking the medication the doctor prescribed him, although doctor’s orders were that regular movement and activity coupledwiththe meds would be the most effective. Pops doesn’t seem interested in following those orders, though.
Maybe Chase can convince him to throw the ball or play some gentle tug-of-war. Anything to get Pops using his hands and moving around.
Sighing, I get out of the truck and walk up to the bar. Looks pretty busy tonight, though that’s not a surprise when the pizza shop is its only competition. The other restaurants in town decided they couldn’t recoup operating costs to stay open all winter. It’s a fact that looms over me, alongside the growing list of families who have checked out of Noel.
I open the door to a cacophony of noise. Lively conversations, cooks calling up orders, the clink of glasses at the bar, and boots clanking on the small dance floor. All mixed with a twanging undercurrent of country music. This crowded bar is just about the last place I’d like to be tonight. But Davis pestered me with a bunch of guilt-ridden comments about mingling with the town, staying connected with the people who have been loyal to me my whole life.
Manipulative excuse for a friend.
Scanning the tables, I see Davis right as he calls out “Clark! Over here!”
I take a step in his direction but come to an abrupt stop. Because Davis and Syd aren’t alone at that table. A third seat is taken by the in-the-flesh version of the phantom woman haunting my dreams. One of the can lights in the ceilings is placed just so over Clara’s head, illuminating her strawberry-blond curls with a glowing halo.
By the saucer size of her eyes and blanched skin, I’d place an all-in bet that she also had no heads up about my presence tonight.
I snap my eyes back to Davis, meeting his bemused expression with my best“you’re a dead man”scowl. Syd has the audacity to swivel in her seat and full-on grin at me, eyes dancing with delight.
Since Davis has already drawn attention to my entrance, I can’t turn around and walk out without it being obvious. The thought still crosses my mind, but then I remember my vow to Chase that I’d be civil to Clara. Booking it out of the bar at the mere sight of her probably wouldn’t qualify as civil.
I make my way over to the table, taking the empty seat between Davis and Clara. “Davis, Syd,” I greet with a stiff nod. Then I turn my attention to the exact person I’ve been trying to steer it away from. “Clara, good to see you again. When did you get back to town?”
She swallows hard. The resulting twitch of her lips and bob of her throat doesnotaid my efforts to absolve my thoughts of her. I know exactly what I’ll be thinking about all night now. That and the way her navy blue shirt makes her eyes pop even more than they already do on their own.
“Clark, hi,” she answers softly, her eyes flitting briefly to Syd’s. Clara clears her throat and continues, “I got back yesterday. Just here for a long weekend, so I’ll be going back to KC on Monday.” Her eyes have been shifting around, not daring to look me straight on for more than a split second at a time.
I notice her twirling that ring on her finger as she exhales a deep breath. Her eyes finally find mine and stick. “Um, thank you for getting the lights down for me. And for the rocking chair. It’s absolutely gorgeous.”
She tucks a curl behind her ear, and my eyes follow the movement. Now it’s my turn to swallow hard, momentarily wonderstruck into silence.
Get a grip, Clark!
“Uh, you’re welcome,” I half speak, half grunt. I want to tell her that it’s a Pops original chair, but that would require explaining who Pops is. And that’s more words than I trust myself speaking right now. A quick glance around the tableconfirms that Davis and Syd are living their best lives in this moment.
“We were filling Clara in on what’s good to eat here,” Syd chirps, filling the awkward silence. Well, Syd and Davis aren’t acting awkward at all. The awkward silence for theotherhalf of the table.
“Just don’t order the soup of the day. You’ll regret it later tonight,” I offer, making an attempt at conversation.
Clara smiles, first at me and then at Sydney. “That’s what Syd told me. Something about a pot full of questionable leftovers and living on a prayer. Davis tried to dare me, but I don’t think I have the gamble in me tonight.”
Watching Clara smile, listening to her talk about Davis and Syd like old pals of hers—something about it hits me, hard as a sucker punch. I hope I didn’t visibly flinch.
I cross my arms on top of the table, trying to ground myself. “The burgers are fail-safe, and pretty much anything fried. You can’t come here hoping for diet food,” I add, and Clara bursts out a laugh.
Good lord, I’d do anything to hear that laugh again.
NO! No, you wouldn’t, Clark. Her laugh is no different from Sydney’s or Emily’s or any other woman’s in this town.
How long are you gonna keep lying to yourself?
I’m saved from my crippling inner dialogue by Jake coming over to take our order. He’s a junior in high school, but because his dad owns the bar, he gets roped into working here most weekends. He’s been slightly less enthusiastic about life lately. Understandable, since multiple of his friends have moved away. Considering that Noel already has to combine with a few nearby towns to share a high school, each student who moves on leaves behind a noticeable absence. I’m not sure how I would have coped if Davis or Beau had moved away during high school. I’ll leave an extra-large tip for Jake tonight.
Syd orders chicken tenders, Davis gets the fried catfish, and I ask for a bacon cheeseburger plain. I try to ignore the skip in my heartbeat when Clara copies my order. When Jake takes our menus and leaves the table, Clara speaks up first, asking me, “Where’s Chase tonight?”
“I dropped him off at Pops’ house on the way here so he wouldn’t be alone,” I answer. Clara props her chin on her hand, leaning forward and listening intently as Davis and I take turns explaining the legendary Bill “Pops” Allen. It’s the perfect opportunity to explain why her porch rocking chair is extra special.
“How was Pops when you saw him today?” Davis asks.
“I don’t know. Not great.” I sigh, rubbing a hand across my beard. “’Course, you never get a straight answer from him. But he’s not moving too good, and I’m not sure that anything is motivating him to change that.”
