Page 62 of Saved By Noel
“What can I help you with, Miss Clara?” Pops asks. Clara’s demeanor manages to pull the Southern gentleman out of the curmudgeon.
Clara takes a big swallow of sweet tea, completely hiding any reaction she may have to the overpowering amount of sugar. Then again, I’ve seen the drinks she orders from Becky’s. Maybe this is par for the course for Clara’s taste buds.
“It’s about the Christmas Fest,” she begins. “Have you heard that we’re going to call it The First Noel this year?”
Pops grins at me. “I’m not even going to bother asking how you felt about that.”
“I got vetoed,” I say flatly.
He turns his grin to Clara. “Well, I love it. Don’t listen to this one.”
“Oh, I’m way past listening to this one,” Clara chirps. “And he’s way past arguing with me.”
I’m not sure if Clara is intentionally buttering Pops up, or if this is just her natural people skills at work. Either way, he’s putty in her hands. I think he’d say yes to anything she asks.
I know the feeling.
“One of the main features of the festival will be a gift shop called Santa’s Workshop. Pearl has already agreed to sell her pottery, and two talented high schoolers are going to make some artwork. The Quilt Bunch is sewing several varieties of fabric gifts, and we have someone making jewelry. But I can’t help thinking we need something slightly more masculine to round things out.”
Pops is listening closely as Clara continues, “A while back, Clark mentioned in passing that you used to whittle wood figurines before you got busy with furniture orders. I can’t stopthinking about it. Would you be willing to make some pieces to sell in the gift shop?”
His mouth twists into a half frown as he looks down at his hands. “I’d really like to help ya, Miss Clara, but I’m not sure that I’d make anything people would want to buy.”
“I’msure that you would, Pops. If your carvings are a fraction as good as your rocking chairs, people will be fighting to buy them before they’re gone,” Clara asserts. “We have lots of time before the festival kicks off after Thanksgiving.” She leans forward to place a hand on Pops’ arm. “Would you at least consider giving it a try, make a few things and see how it goes? Please?”
Who could say no to that? How didIever say no to her?
Pops’ face goes soft. “Well, all right. I suppose I could give it a try. My doctor gave me some new medicine to help the inflammation in my joints. I’ll take it for a few days and see if it loosens up the ol’ fingers. I’ll give it my best shot, Miss Clara.”
She thanks him, and then looks over at me with a dancing, victorious spark in her eye. The smile on her face is so full of warmth, a chill courses through me. Today has magnified what I already knew about Clara—she comes most alive when she’s helping other people.
The realization hits like a gut punch. It’s the only “con” on the pro/con list I need to convince myself I have to shut down this pull toward her.
Even though I’ve allowed her in to assist the town,Idon’t need help.
My chest aches, wishing I could be a different man than who I am. The type of man who naturally lets others in, accepts help. The type of man who had a healthy family environment instead of a toxic father who conditioned him to never rely on anyone else.
Just for her, I wish I could be that man.
But I am who I am, and she is who she is. We’ll never work together. For her sake, I have to reconstruct those walls she’s slowly broken through.
Chapter thirty-five
Clara
Joy threatens to burst my heart as Clark drives me home. I’ve rolled the window down, letting the evening breeze blow through my hair. Chase is sitting on my lap, his head hanging out the window as I watch the scenery roll by.
This day couldn’t have gone any better. Everyone in town is buzzing with positive energy—a buzz I helped create.Andwe found a way to get Pops involved. A way that will hopefully give him something to look forward to each day.
And Clark. I’d have to be either completely blind or completely stupid to deny the chemistry between us after today. All of his teasing comments—it was the most at ease, dare I say,flirtatious, I’d ever seen him. When we were having our standoff at the picnic table and he reached up to tuck my hair behind my ear, I thought I might faint from the contact.
The glint in his eyes hinted that he was experiencing all the same attraction that I was. But then he stepped back so abruptly, I thought maybe I imagined it.Did I imagine it, or is Clark just too afraid to admit what’s there?
We pull into my driveway, and I climb out of the truck, hoping that Clark will walk me to my door again. Whatever might be going on in his mind, I guess his Southern gentleman genes won’t quit because he follows me to my front porch. My heartbeat morphs into the hoofs of a racehorse, sprinting and pounding with abandon.
I punch in the code to unlock my front door but then turn to face Clark. He’s several steps back from me, in what could only be an intentional attempt to put space between us. My heart drops, but I force a smile.
“Thank you for today, Clark. Thanks for saying yes to this, for letting me help,” I say, taking a tiny step closer to him.
