Page 31 of Joy to Noel
“I spent an hour this morning following a web of editors, publishers, and authors on social media in an effort to network and get my information out there. I don’t love the idea of cold messaging authors, so I’m really hoping to get a few inquiries soon to get the ball rolling,” I say. “I don’t know what I’m going to do if I don’t gain some traction. My severance will only hold me over for so long before I need some income.”
“Why don’t you work some hours here at the shop?” Becky offers. “It wouldn’t be full time or anything, but it could give you a little bit of cushion while you get things rolling.”
“Really?” I ask. “Would you really need help?”
“I’d take your help over high school girls any day,” Becky responds with a laugh. “I have a feeling your ability to follow directions would be much better. I could train you before tourist season picks up.”
“I’ll be your best customer,” Clara says sweetly.
“And I’ll be your worst customer to make sure you have what it takes to handle the rude tourists,” Syd adds mischievously.
“I might take you up on that, Becky,” I muse. “Sure beats moving back home with my parents.”
“Do they live in Kansas City?”Becky asks.
“Oh, no,” I say. “They live on a farm in rural Nebraska. My brother and his wife also have a house on the property because they’re going to take over when my dad retires.Ifhe ever retires.”
“No farm life for you?” Syd asks.
I shake my head. “I enjoyed growing up there. I know that a lot of my work ethic and attention to detail come straight from that upbringing. So I appreciate it, but I’ve been eager to get away from the small-town life ever since high school.”
Clara motions around. “And yet, here you are,” she says with a sly smile.
I shake my head slightly. “Noel is different. You’re here. You’re all here,” I say. “It’s a good break from KC while I get my life figured out. Then I’ll be out of your hair and back on my way to city life.”
“You don’t need to leave anytime soon. We like having you around, Mads,” Syd says.
Is she just saying that because she’s close friends with Clara? Are they all just tolerating me because I’m Clara’s best friend?
Clara is the type of person that attracts friends like flowers attract bees. She’s kind, thoughtful, and generous—who wouldn’t want to have her in their corner? I, on the other hand, haven’t always had the easiest time keeping close friends. Apparently, I’m too abrasive for some people’s taste. Often, I’ll lie awake at night replaying conversations I had that day, only to realize too late that something I said out loud probably should have stayed an inside thought.
Clara’s been the exception, accepting and loving me for who I am. At least, after we’d spent lots of time together—I think her naturally non-confrontational demeanor forced her to be nice to me in the beginning until she came to appreciate my blunt personality. She certainly needed someone to tell her the hard things when she was too nice to stand up for herself.
But I don’t expect that all of her friends here will share her opinion of me. Becky may rescind her employment offer after spending hours upon hours together training me.
“By the way, do you want me to come get the Christmas decorations from your cabin?” Becky says.
I don’t miss Clara’s expectant look as she turns her attention to me. Like sheknows.
Sighing, I answer, “No. They’ve turned into a good luck charm of sorts. The Christmas ambience somehow helps me get in the zone to be productive.”
Clara raises her hands victoriously. “Christmas always wins. I told you, Mads—you just needed some Christmas magic.”
I fight a smile as I tell her, “Okay, but could you please request that the Christmas magic send me a paying client now?”
After dropping Clara off at her cabin (and being subjected to Clark practically kissing the lips right off her face after a mere five hours apart), I head back to my tiny corner of the world. Liam’s SUV is still gone, and I can hear that darn cat howling through the door like its life is about to end. I cross the gravel path and peek through the window, only to be startled by a hiss and a paw swiping at the glass.
“Well, I guess you’re alive, little devil cat,” I huff. Leaving the animal to its misery, I kick off my shoes in my cabin and heat up some leftover stir-fry. While the food is microwaving, I turn on all my Christmas lights and open the ambience video on my tablet.
Screwing up my courage, I spend my dinner time sending cold direct messages to authors and emailing small publishing houses offering proofreading services. An hour later, I hear Liam’s car pull up. Peering out the window, I see the lights come on inside his cabin.
I shouldn’t be expecting him to stop by. I shouldn’t be crossing my fingers that he’ll text me about his day on the job. I definitely shouldn’t be hoping he’ll tell me the details of his “investigation” into the plant.
But I’m maybe a little disappointed when hedoesn’tdo any of those things.
Flopping onto my bed, I stare at the ceiling and debate with myself. Make contact or wait for him to contact me?
Sitting up, I decide that one short text won’t hurt anything.
