Christmas with Nick Klaas

Part 8: Mr. Bakewell

Noelle wasn't sure what had woken her. It could have been the a cappella version of "Good King Wenceslas" coming from the alarm clock radio. Or it may very well have been the sharp paw digging into her right boob from the feline named after an Oscar winning actor standing on her chest.

"Shoo," she threw Cat Damon off her, sending the animal to the floor. Like a good example of his species, he landed on all four feet.

Rolling on her side, Noelle searched for the alarm clock, but found none. "Son of a—" she caught herself from cursing as she realized that the wake-up concert was live, delivered by a choir standing under her window.

Avery, however, was already gone. Her bed just a few feet away was empty, the white and blue comforter with its snowflake motif mussed from use. Noelle considered taking advantage of the peace and quite and lying in, but a strange odor forced her from under the covers. Sniffing the air, she quickly located the source of the foul smell in a small bowl by the far wall.

Avery must have brought back some leftovers for the cat last night, but the finicky eater didn't clean his plate. From the look and smell of it, Avery had some type of fish.

But as Noelle headed toward the bathroom, she nearly stepped into what turned out to be another odiferous culprit. "I'm going to lock you out into the snow, you little demon," she cursed the cat, making a mental note to find a box and newspapers for him.

After changing out of her palm tree adorned flannel pajamas, brushing her teeth, and slapping enough makeup on to get that "all natural" look, she headed downstairs. Having skipped dinner, her mission now was clear: find food. Even if they didn't do room service at the inn, no one said anything about in-house breakfast. Her hopes and suspicions were confirmed when a mixture of mouth-watering aromas hit her halfway down the staircase. The smell of bacon, sausage, toast and eggs mixed with the sweet scent of caffeine led her past the reception desk into a small room with several tables set for two. Although there were crisp tablecloths, shiny china, and sparkling silverware, there was not one soul in sight.

Muffled talk and the clattering of pans drew her attention to a door in the back. Swinging the door open, Noelle found herself in the kitchen, but while she wasn't sure what she was expecting, she definitely didn't count on what she found.

"Good morn—," she began, but the word stuck in her throat as she saw Nick. He was hunched over a prepping table while working out a batch of dough with a rolling pin. Standing next to him, the old lady from the reception desk was sipping a mug of something hot. But she wasn't Noelle's main concern. "What are you doing here?" she addressed Nick.

"And a very merry Christmas Eve eve morning to you too," he said with an extra chipper tone, continuing on with the work. "Is that how you'll greet me every time we meet now?"

Noelle rolled her eyes at the forced name for December twenty-third. It could have only come from someone who was really, really into the holiday. "Only if you show up everywhere I go," she replied, defiantly crossing her arms. It was their third chance encounter in less than two days and it was becoming suspicious.

"It's a small town," he said, spreading flour under the thin dough to keep it from sticking.

Noelle scoffed. "Right. And you're the guy who gets things done," she sarcastically repeated his explanation from the night before.

Without the slightest appearance of insult, he nodded. "I am."

A whole slew of retorts flooded her brain, but Noelle decided to stop before their spirited banter escalated to nasty bickering. With the mood she was already in, it wouldn't have taken much. Hangry was a legitimate reason, after all. "Is there a chance I could get some breakfast," she asked the old woman.