I’m not working at Becky’s today, so I make great progress on the manuscript I’m editing. Which is good news, considering my dream manuscript should be arriving in my inbox any day. I want to be fully focused when the time comes so I can put my best foot forward with this author.
If I know Clara Jane Noel in the slightest, I know that she will be wearing her flannel Christmas pajamas for this girls’ night. Even though it’s ninety degrees outside, I pair my long-sleeved Grinch pajama shirt with the regular shorts I’m wearing. Compromise.
As I gather my things to leave, Hamlet pads over, meowing loudly. When he rubs up against my ankles, I bend down to stroke his back. “Hey, Hammie,” I croon. “I’m gonna go relax and try to stop thinkingabout your daddy, okay?” Hamlet responds by leaping onto my shoulders, so I reward him with a little scratch on the chest.
“I really have to go now. I have fresh scones to pick up,” I tell Hamlet as I pull him off my shoulders and cradle him in my arms. Liam chooses that precise moment to come through the front door, halting suddenly at the sight of Hamlet snuggling me.
“You’re not allowed to like her more than me,” Liam tells Hamlet. I ignore the possible double meaning of his statement.
Meow.
Liam’s brow furrows when he takes in my appearance. “Isn’t it a little warm for fuzzy Christmas pajamas? And early? You’re really taking this to the next level.”
Shaking my head, I pass Hamlet off to him. “We’re having a girls’ night at Clara’s. She’s suffering from writer’s block, and considering that she writes Christmas movie scripts, a little dose of Christmas spirit is just the inspiration she needs.”
“So you’re leaving for the night?” Liam asks. I don’t miss the way his face falls with the question, and I don’t know what to do with that.
“Mmhmm,” I reply. “Don’t wait up for me. I mean, not that you ever do. Or evershouldwait up for me. Or . . . whatever. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I dash out the door, chastising my stupid brain on the way to my car.
“How in the world did you manage this in the past six hours?” I ask as I step inside Clara’s cabin.
It isfullydecked out for Christmas. I’m pretty sure every decoration that she owns is currently on display and illuminated by hundreds of lights. There’s a four-foot Christmas tree set up by the fireplace, and even the stockings are hung on the mantel. Chase is excitedly prancing around the room, wagging his tail with exuberance, clearly loving the Christmas spirit as much as Clara.
Clara shrugs. “Just a little Christmas magic.” I narrow my eyes at her, and she confesses, “Clark didn’t have any jobs this afternoon. He finished fixing the patio he was working on this morning, so I contracted his handyman hours to help me get all the decorations put up."
The man himself walks out of the sunroom and through the living room. “I drew the line at starting a fire in the fireplace, though,” he says. Clara pouts her lower lip. While I do see her point—the tall stone fireplace is certainly the central feature of the room—I also see Clark’s point.
“Clara, it’s like, ninety-five degrees already. We can imagine a fire in the fireplace in our hearts, okay?” I say, deciding to back up Clark. “And to counterbalance that disappointment, I have orange cranberry scones!” I announce, holding up the container in my hands.
“Thank you, voice of reason,” Clark says to me. “And, on that note, I’m outta here.”
As he exits the front door, Sydney comes in. “Let’s get this party started!” Her eyes widen as she takes in the Christmas wonderland. “I will never get over the fact that you turned Clark from, well,Clark, into a man who will decorate his house for Christmas in May.”
Clara sighs with lovey-dovey eyes as she responds, “He really is the best.”
After Clara makes cups of whipped-cream laden hot cocoa for each of us, we kick back on the couch, and Chase curls up at our feet. When Clara startsWhite Christmas,I give her a confused look. “I was expecting a Heartmark Christmas movie,” I say.
“I was afraid if I watched a Heartmark movie that it would just send me deeper into my writing rut. Or make me second guess if what I’m writing is original enough. So I decided to go with a classic instead,” Clara replies.
As the night wears on, we alternate between paying attention to the movie (mostly for the musical numbers) and chatting about life. Syd updates us on an interior design project she's doing for a couple in town. We needle Clara until she tells us the basic plot of her work in progress (extremely sweet and very Christmassy). And then the tables turn to me.
“So, Mads, you and Liam seem to be getting along well,” Syd says just before taking an enormous bite of a scone, effectively handing me the proverbial microphone.
“Yep! He’s turned out to be a decent roommate,” I reply, giving her nothing to work with.
Syd groans, mouth still full. She talks around the food. “Come onnn, Mads. Just tell us if there’s something going on between you two. The people want to know!”
I spear her with a look. She swallows the scone in her mouth.
“The people in this room, and exactly no other people,” Syd amends, miming zipping her lips.
If only it was a straightforward answer.
I sigh and flop back against the couch, covering my face with my hands. “I don’t know. I literally don’t know what to tell you because I don’t know if there’s anything going on!”
Clara flops back next to me. “Would you like there to be something going on?” she asks softly.
