Page 6 of The Christmas Fix
“Whatever. If you give me money, I’ll grab some stuff at the market.”
Noah rose, automatically reaching for his wallet. “Can you let me know what the bread and water aisles look like?” He’d already put out an informational sheet on provisions and emergency procedures to the town. But Merry, Connecticut, was traditionally overly optimistic when it came to nearly everything. Being city manager here was both a constant joy and battle trying to get residents to understand the less-than-positive consequences of their choices.
“I’ll text you,” Sara said, hopping to her feet and snatching the cash out of his hand.
“I have to finish up a few things here. Meet me at home in an hour?”
Sara was too busy texting to respond. Noah covered the phone screen with his palm. “Excuse me, daughter.”
With a dramatic sigh, she tucked her phone back into her backpack. “Bread and water aisle. Be home in an hour. I got it, Dad. You’re the one who’s always late.”
She spoke the truth. It seemed that his job was never done.
“Watch the bucket,” he warned, side-stepping a snowman tin one of the residents had donated to help catch the leaks that had begun plaguing the ceiling of his shabby office last spring. Town Hall was in dire need of a facelift.
“Is your mom ready for the storm?” he asked her as he walked her to the door, skimming a hand over her ponytail. “Is she okay with you staying with me?”
She swung the doeskin tail out of his grasp and shrugged. “I guess.”
He added it to the long list of rejections a father of a twelve-year-old suffered.
“Did she get my memo?”
Sara rolled her eyes. “Dad, why don’t you ask her? You have her number. I gotta go.”
“Be safe,” he called after her.
“I’m getting donuts,” she yelled from the stairs.
Noah ran his hand through his curling hair and watched her skip down the stairs. Sometimes it baffled him that he’d known his daughter for all of her twelve years yet at times they were complete strangers. He was officially one of those dads who didn’t “get it.” Sara had gone from his adorable princess who raced down the stairs to greet him every day to the fiercely independent near-teen who now seemed to care more about magazines and reality TV than being a well-rounded human.
He still caught glimpses of the little girl who captured his heart about two seconds after she was born. But most hours of the day were now spent in a constant battle of homework and parental nudging to make good life choices. He loved her more than anything in the world. He’d do whatever it took to protect Sara from bad decisions and frivolous diversions. Even if it meant she was constantly annoyed with him.
Noah’s desk phone rang again, and a second later his cell phone echoed it. He sighed. He had less than twelve hours to make sure every one of Merry’s citizens were safe before Hurricane Veronica made landfall. He rubbed his tired eyes under his glasses. It was going to be a long night.
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Sara’s gaze wandered to the living room windows where the incessant rain pelted. The roar of the storm surrounded them, and Noah wished he would have gotten the roof redone like he’d planned this summer. The three-story Victorian monstrosity on the hill was too big for just the two of them. Six bedrooms, five bathrooms in dire need of updating, and two freaking formal parlors. Purchasing it had been a whim, despite the fact that Noah never had whims. But in the midst of a polite divorce, he and Sara had spotted the for sale sign one day. She’d fallen in love with the fanciful mess in a way that only an imaginative six-year-old could.
Noah blamed Sara’s princess phase and his desire to ease the transition to two separate families for the choice of real estate. Not that he minded the house. Its creaky, crooked doors, cozy nooks, and football field-sized kitchen had a certain charm, a character that made it impossible not to like.
However, the projects that he’d promised himself he’d tackle had taken a backseat to raising his daughter and keeping his town under control.
A town now under siege by a hurricane that seemed hell-bent on swamping them.
“House wins,” Noah said, drawing Sara’s attention back to their game.
She glared at his cards, adding them up in her head. “Cheater! You busted.Iwin!”
Noah grinned and ruffled her hair. He’d taught her blackjack back in the day to help sharpen her math skills, and she’d become quite quick with the cards. He hoped it wouldn’t someday come back to bite him in the ass.
“Dad, I’m quitting college to become a blackjack dealer on a cruise ship.”
“So, how’s school going? Are you still having trouble with fractions?”
Sara flopped over backwards to sprawl across the rug. “Dad, can wepleasetalk about normal stuff for once?”
Noah frowned. “School’s normal. Isn’t it?”
