Page 39 of Joy to Noel
Madison finally shakes my hand. “Fine, then. It’s a deal.”
I’m not easy to intimidate. In fact, I’d almost be so bold as to claim that it’simpossibleto intimidate me.
But as I stand in the living room with Clark—arms folded across his broad chest, eyes shaded from view by a baseball cap, deep scowl on his lips behind his beard—I find myself internally squirming ever so slightly. He’s only a few inches taller than I am, but he exudes a towering presence beyond his physical height.
I adopt my “command the room” posture I use when addressing employees with a plan they won’t want to hear.
From the other room, Madison’s and Clara’s cheerful voices can be heard as they debate where to place the desk in Madison’s room. “I think it should be facing the window so I can look outside,” Madison says, but Clara quickly counters, “But if you’re facing the window then the sun will be too bright in your eyes! Let’s put the desk perpendicular to the window.”
A throat clears next to me. “Just so we’re clear—you’ll be treating Madison appropriately, like a landlord with a tenant?” Clark phrases it like a question, but I know it’s a statement.
I narrow my eyes. “Of course.”
Clark grunts. But his tone is slightly softer when he says, “Beau’s had decent things to say about you, which is the only reason I’m okay with this plan for Madison to stay here.” I nod, not sure how else to respond. Clark leans closer when he adds, “But, for the record, I’m very protective of my people. And, as my wife’s best friend, Mads qualifies as one of my people. Got it?”
“Noted,” I reply. Clark’s expression narrows, but he leans back and turns around as Clara walks into the room. The way his hardened scowl melts into a besotted smile at the sight of her hits me with an unexpected wave of envy.
“We promised Pops we would be over in time for dinner tonight, so we’ve got to get going,” Clara is telling Madison. “But text me if you need help with anything tomorrow.”
“Who’s Pops?” I ask, suddenly wanting to be included in the conversation.
“He’s like the town grandfather figure,” Madison says. “A very cantankerous grandfather.”
Clark snorts. “Probably why you two get along so well,” he says to Madison. I find myself bristling at his insinuation about Madison, but she responds with a wry smile.
“That makes three of us,” she says, punching Clark’s arm. “Tell the old man ‘hi’ from me.”
After Madison walks them to the door, she returns and claps her hands. “First things first—we need to teach Devil Cat to stay away from my room.”
Rolling my eyes, I chide her. “You’re so dramatic.” I walk to the primary bedroom, where I’d closed Hamlet in while Madison’s few belongings were moved in by Clark and Clara. Opening the door, I find Hamlet waiting to be let out. I moved in this morning, so he hasn’t had enough time to do a thorough inspection of the new space yet. He immediately wanders off to continue sniffing everything in sight, but I call for him to follow me.
I walk to the doorway of Madison’s room but stop Hamlet when he tries to walk in. “No,” I tell him firmly. He looks up at me and meows loudly in protest. “No,” I repeat as I gently redirect his body away from Madison’s room. He meows again and tries to turn back toward the room. “Hamlet,” I say in my firmest disapproving parent voice. He knows that tone. After one final disgruntledmeow, he turns away, resuming his investigation of the living room.
“That’s it?” Madison asks. “That’s all there is to it?”
Nodding, I hold my hands up in a shrug. “When he was a kitten, I would squirt him with a spray bottle of water to teach him what was off limits. But now, he comprehends the tone of my voice. So that’s all there is to it.”
I can’t tell if Madison looks impressed or disbelieving when she asks, “How do we know he won’t sneak in to claw me in my sleep?”
“Well, for one, you could sleep with your door closed,” I say, a smirk on my lips. She huffs. “For two, Hamlet always sleeps on the pillow above my head. He won’t bother youat night.”
“Interesting,” Madison says. “With all your rules about him not getting on the counters or tables, I’m surprised you let him sleep in bed with you.”
I simply shrug. “I don’t want him crawling around where I’m going to prep and eat food. But sleep is different, somehow. I like knowing he’s close by when I’m asleep.”
Madison’s looking at me with a curious expression, and I wish I could delete my last comment. I decide to redirect before she asks any personal questions. “Why don’t we go to the grocery store to stock up on food for the week?” I suggest.
Ten minutes later, we’re walking the aisles of Noland’s Grocery, the only store in town. It’s busier than the other times I’ve been here, which makes sense considering more tourists have started flocking to the town for river float trips. The water would still be too cold for my preference, but to each his own.
“Did you make a list of what you’ll need for whatever recipes you’re making this week? We can divide and conquer if you give me half the list,” I tell Madison as I push the grocery cart next to her.
“That’s not how I roll as a cook,” she responds. “I take a more minimalistic approach to cooking.”
“Why am I not surprised?” I muse under my breath, earning a glare from Madison. “Please, do explain.”
“I don’t cook from recipes—I simply keep a supply of basic seasonings and sauces on hand. Then I pick a protein, vegetable, and carb to mix together in some combination. Almost anything can taste good in a tortilla, over rice, or mixed with noodles. Less waste that way since you’re not buying some obscure ingredient to use one time.”
I have to hand it to her—it is a practical approach to cooking. And the stir-fry she made the one night I joined her for dinner tasted great. I guess she’s on to something.
