Page 72 of Saved By Noel
He’s not kissing me back.
An electrician jumping away from touching a live wire has nothing on the speed and force with which I spring back from Clark.
He looks as stunned as I feel. Which is not fair consideringI’mthe one who just kissed someone who didn’t want to be kissed. Clark’s obvious discomfort only makes me more embarrassed.
“I’m so sorry; excuse me,” I mumble as I dart past him out of the alley.
“Wait, Clara, let’s—”
“Please forget everything that just happened!” I call back over my shoulder, voice unnaturally high. Logically, I know I should attempt to play this cool and walk away as if unbothered. But my heart is both pounding out of my chestandmy chest is so tight I think my heart can’t beat. Which should be an impossible combination of biological responses. I break out in a dead sprint toward my car.
Oh my gosh; I am such an idiot. I laid it all out there like we were on the same page, but, boy, was I wrong. We’re not on the same page. We’re not in the same book. Clark isn’t even in a book.
I’m such a fool.
I want nothing more than to crawl into a hole and curl up in the fetal position. No—my one wish would be to take back everything about the past ten minutes, to extract it from Clark’s mind like a lobotomy.Where are the Men in Black with those flashy memory-eraser sticks when you need them?
Every ounce of logic in my brain knows that I’m in no state to drive for hours. In the dark. But the shame of rejection is overpowering all sense of logic.
Not even bothering to stop at my cabin, I speed away from Noel—and Clark—as fast as I can.
I cry the entire drive home.
Chapter forty
Clark
“You’ve reached Clara! Leave me a message, and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can!”
I hang up before the beep, groaning.
It’s been almost a week since I pulled the most Clark move of all time. And by “Clark move,” I mean royally messing up a relationship by reacting to a situation in the most idiotic manner possible.
Clara kissed me. She told me she thought we could be great together, despite all the ways I’ve been a complete jerk to her in the past. She saw through all that and thought we could be something.
Then kissed me.
And what did I do? Locked up like the Tin Man, exactly the way Syd accused me of at the cookout for Madison.
Iwantedto kiss Clara back. I wanted to pull her body flush against mine andkissher until she forgot she loves Christmas. Kiss her until nothing else existed outside of the Clark-and-Clara picture she painted.
But I didn’t. Because I know that the Clark-and-Clara would fall apart. Know I’d stifle Clara’s eager spirit with my self-sufficiency. She wouldn’t stick around once she truly understood that I don’t need anyone. And she’d get hurt in the process. I can’t do that to her.
So I stood there, still as a statue, while the opportunity to kiss the woman I love slipped through my fingers.
Yes, I love her. Despite all the willpower I’ve put into trying to push her away, to sever that cord between her heart and mine, to kill the feeling by denying its existence. But it exists. I love her.
I’ve texted her twice this week to try to get her to talk. Not so I can profess my love—that can’t happen—but to try to help her not be embarrassed about the kiss, to apologize for my poor reaction. Blame it on a lack of sleep. Or overstimulation from the crowds, or anything other than the excruciating pain of loving this woman but needing to stay away from her for her sake.
She wouldn’t text me back, so as I walked to the festival grounds tonight for the final parade, I pushed that dreaded icon on my phone and tried to call her.
No answer. It’s what I deserve. I only wish I could give her what she deserves.
The crowds at The First Noel have been bigger than ever this week, the final week of the festival. I’ve tried my best to rein in my grouchiness, but haven’t been entirely successful. At least everyone close to me knows how much I hate these social situations. So I’ve had their benefits of the doubt that my foul mood has to do with the multitudes of people.
My benefits have apparently run out, though. Syd sees me coming and marches toward me with murder in her eyes. Probably because Clara hasn’t shown up today.
“What did you do?” Syd demands.
