Page 45 of Saved By Noel
“Anyway, it was never an option to not go to college after high school. But I didn’t know what to do. My dad agreed to let me start at a community college and take some gen eds. He came to terms with the fact that I wouldn’t follow in his business footsteps like Sam did. But he hoped I might pursue engineering or some other ‘respectable profession,’” I emphasize with air quotes. An ironic laugh escapes before I can stop it.
Clara hasn’t said anything else. She’s quietly listening with a neutral expression, putting me at ease.
“After the accident, I was a mess. I didn’t know how to handle all the emotions—grief, anger at the driver who hit them, sadness. But also . . . relief. I felt relieved to be out from under my father’s expectations. But that relief only added guilt into the mix. I mean, who feelsrelievedthat their dad has died?”
I swallow hard, embarrassed that I admitted this to Clara. Especially knowing how close she is to her parents. I can’t risk meeting her eyes, afraid of the judgment I might find there.
“Clark, I know those are complicated emotions. But they make sense. You aren’t wrong for feeling conflicted,” Clara says in a calm voice. I dart my eyes back to hers and see empathy instead of judgment. “What did you do after the accident?” she asks.
“I knew I wasn’t going to finish college, but I had no idea what to do with myself,” I answer. “I moved back into my parents’ house, and their life insurance money plus inheritance more than paid for my basic necessities as I floundered through the grief for a year. Totally purposeless.”
My chest tightens as I dredge back up the memories I mostly ignore now. “Pops is the one who finally snapped me out of it. He convinced me to shadow him in his carpentry work, taughtme how to use tools to shape wood into something new. How to repair broken furniture. He was semi-retired already, but he started going back out to his workshop every day to teach me everything he knew about woodworking.
“I made a pair of barstools on my own, and although they weren’t perfect by Pops’ standards, they were sturdy. And I felt good at something for the first time in a long time. That’s when I got this.” I point to the leafless tree traveling the length of my forearm. The exposed roots start just above my wrist, and branches wrap around my bicep. Clara leans forward for a closer look, and my heart temporarily stops beating at her nearness.
My internal warning sirens are blaring at this intimate moment, but I silence them by continuing to speak. “I wasn’t convinced I wanted to be a full-time carpenter like Pops, but I knew for sure after his training that I enjoyed fixing things. Knew that I could be good at it. I decided to learn residential electric work. I took classes at a trade school and worked as an apprentice to get a residential journeyman electrician license. I added this.” I push the sleeve of my shirt up to expose the storm clouds above the bare tree branches, pointing to the flash of lightning striking the tree trunk.
“I enjoyed learning electric work, but I realized I didn’t want to be a full-time electrician either. After my apprenticeship, I learned basic plumbing repairs like replacing faucets and fixing leaky pipes—all the minor jobs that don’t require a license,” I say.
“Let me guess,” Clara interrupts as she reaches to trace her fingers over my tattoo. “You added the raindrops trailing down to the tree roots.”
The feather-light touch of her fingers on my arm renders me utterly paralyzed. And mute.
She eventually looks back up into my eyes in the silence. “A piece of the picture for every skill you mastered.”
My vocal cords are still disabled, so I simply nod in response. She sits back in her chair, giving me space to inhale. “That’s really beautiful, Clark. I mean, beautiful in a manly way. And obviously everything with your dad and the accident isn’t beautiful. Just the tattoo and Pops helping you was beautiful. Again, manly beautiful.” She slaps a hand to her forehead. “I’m going to stop talking now.”
At least I’m not the only one whose brain malfunctions when we’re around each other.
“If it’s beautiful in a non-manly way, I’m going to need to go back and have a word with my tattoo artist.” I smirk, unable to resist the urge to tease her. Clara pushes my shoulder, but one corner of her perfect lips turns up in a smile. My mind tumbles down the rabbit hole of wondering what Clara’s lips would feel like against mine.Are they as pillowy-soft as they look? Would the sweet taste of marshmallow linger there?
Warning! Warning!
“I should probably try to find us a ride back to my truck before it gets too late,” I announce, effectively popping the bubble of this intimate fireside chat.
“Oh, yeah, that’s a good idea, I suppose,” Clara responds, although her voice sounds disappointed. I stop myself from changing my mind and drawing this evening on longer. This night needs to end precisely because of how badly I want itnotto end.
A quick phone call later, Paul is on the way. Thankfully, almost every household in Noel owns at least one truck. Clara packs up the food containers as I put out the fire. When Paul arrives a few minutes later, we make quick work of loading everything into the bed of his truck.
I try to let Clara sit up front with Paul, but she insists on taking the back to give me more legroom. I have to hidemy disappointment about not being able to secretly watch her profile from the backseat.
We transfer everything to my truck, and I assure Paul I’ll let him know when I hear an update from Davis about Junior. On the drive to Clara’s cabin, she’s quiet, staring out the window. “The stars are so breathtaking here,” she says softly.
I can’t respond. My breath has been stolen by a different sort of star. It’s taking every ounce of energy I have to fend off the desire to reach over and take her hand, to lace her slender fingers through mine. To ask her to sit with me out on her porch all night long.
Parking in her driveway, I turn off my truck and open my door. Clara tries to stop me. “Oh, you don’t have to get out. I’ll be fine. I left the porch light on.”
I’m afraid of what I might accidentally confess about wanting to extend my time near her. I attempt to lighten the mood instead. “Right after two-step class, our next lesson was that a Southern gentleman always walks a lady to her door.”
Clara laughs her beautiful, musical laugh, making me smile in the dark. I follow her up the stepping stones to her porch, waiting as she unlocks her door.
She turns to face me. “Thanks for getting me home safely. And for the float trip and the fire and . . . everything.”
“Of course.”
Clara’s blue eyes scan my face, and she bites her lip. Just when that urge to kiss her is about to break down every internal wall I have, she speaks again.
“It was amazing seeing the town brimming with life today, experiencing the energy at its peak. I guess I just wonder . . .” Her voice trails off momentarily as her eyes dip. My heart sinks. “I wonder why you wouldn’t want this for another month during the holiday season. The excitement, the liveliness, the boost to the local economy. You could have that again for Christmas, toget people through the winter. I know it would work. I want to help you make it work.”
