Clarke Griffin by no means hated Christmas. She used to really love the holiday.

Her father was very into the holidays. Full blown haunted houses on Halloween, the full ham on Easter complete with egg hunts and chocolate rabbits, and of course, the full blown sleigh that he dragged out of the shed every year to put on the roof of the house complete with 9 tiny reindeer. Clarke still smiles when she hears bells in the air, reminiscing of the time spent standing on her father's toes dancing to "White Christmas" while her mom baked up a storm in the kitchen (Her mother was no great baker, but every time December hits Clarke finds herself craving the taste of slightly burnt sugar cookies). Clarke's Christmases had always been cheerful, she wasn't spoiled but she never was disappointed on December 25th.

Until her father passed away on march 27th, one week after her birthday. The mighty Jake Griffin, that had hand built her a tree house with a working door in their backyard, killed in a car crash. It was the stupidest thing.

Abigail Griffin being the head surgeon at North West Hospital in Seattle, chose to ensure the safety of her only child, rather than risk the surgery on her husband that had a high risk of failure. By the time Clarke woke up in the hospital nearly two weeks later he was already gone.

Clarke had long since accepted that he was gone, but whether she could accept her mother's decision or apology, Clarke wasn't sure. At the very least, it would take a long time. So when Clarke graduated high school she decided to abandon her career in the medical field and study art. She wanted to be a high school art teacher. After helping out Charlotte, the little girl that lived next door, Clarke decided that she wanted inspire kids the way that her teacher, Mrs. Kane had. She moved out of her child hood home in Seattle and found an apartment with her best friend Raven Reyes in Ark, Oregon. Population 2,398.

And that was how she found herself stuck in this tiny town, in the middle of almost no where, driving back and forth from Oregon State in her shitty Nisan Altima through out the week, and working at this tiny hole-in-the-wall shop on 5th and Main. Minimum wage was enough to live off if she budgeted carefully and her step-father paid half her rent for her anyways. Selling plastic bulbs and ornaments to people definitely wasn't her favourite thing to do, but she figured she had it better that Raven who was working with Wick in the auto shop on 4th and Peach st. Not that Wick was a bad guy, but his unashamed flirting with Raven was painfully obvious to everyone except Raven.

Clarke unwound her scarf from around her neck and hung her red beanie on the her hook in the back of the shop, hanging up her purse and her jacket, she grabbed her red vest and walked out of the back store room looking for Sinclair.

He was an OK boss, but when he asked you to do something he wanted it done yesterday. Not finding her boss, Clarke flipped the sign on the door to "Open", grabbed her sketch book, and sat behind the counter. It was only 9, and no one would really be entering the store until at least 11. Thursdays were not very exciting times for Sinclair's Decor. Grabbing a pencil Clarke began to draw.

She's only been doing portraits for 6 months, deciding it was time for a change from the scenery she was so accustomed to. Wells, her childhood sweetheart, had always told her that everything she drew should be in it's very own personal art gallery and when they were 8 he tried to put up everything she drew in her tree house to surprise her with her own gallery. Until the wind blew in all out of the window and they ended up picking up papers for 45 minutes while she laughed at him. Most of her art supplies then and now had come from him. Charcoal, pencils, crayons, even a cute tiny set of water colour paints and a specialty paint brush with water in the handle for her travels. That tiny set of travel paints never left her purse and Wells was always proud to show her off to everyone, much to her bemusement and embarrassment.

Clarke's head popped up from her latest picture, a drawing of a red ornament she had balanced against her empty coffee cup on the counter, when she heard the ding of the door bell. Imagine her surprise when the same man from yesterday wandered in, rubbing his hands together from the cold. Shutting her book she rose and stretched her back. Stupid uncomfortable stool that made her butt hurt if she sat too long.

"Hey, can I help you?" again, she added in her head and the mans eyes snapped to meet her. Clarke shivered as a tingle ran down her spine. 'What an intense dude, he knows this isn't a battle field right?'

"Yeah. Your stupid wreath was wrong." he snapped and Clarke groaned internally.

"I'm sorry, how was it wrong?" she asked as politely as she could. The man scrubbed a hand down his face.

"My sister didn't like it, said that it didn't go with the apartment or some stupid shit like that I don't know, look I just need to find a new one for her." he groaned and Clarke grimaced.

"Ok, well would you rather have a red or green one?" she asked and he shrugged.

"Green I s'pose." he mumbled and Clarke walked over to the display and grabbed her favourite wreath from the self.

"This one is my favourite. Did you want to exchange the other one for this?" She asked and he looked down.

"I forgot the other one at the apartment." he said quietly to the floor. Clarke laughed.

"Well, you can always come back?" She suggested and he glared at her.

"It's fine. I'll just take it he griped, stalking over to the till. Clarke rolled her eyes. She was so not getting paid enough by the hour to put up with some pms-ing asshole.

"That'll be $17.99." she told him putting the wreath in a plastic bag.

"That's robbery." he grouched, tapping his debit card against the machine. Clarke shrugged.

"I didn't make the prices, nor did I forget a perfectly exchangeable wreath at home." She said pointedly and he glared at her again.

"Whatever Princess. I had better things on my mind." he snapped.

"Really, princess? Where the hell did that come from?" She asked, with an eye brow raised and he rolled his eyes like it was obvious.

"The Cinderella sticker. I gotta call you something." he mocked, tapping the same spot he had yesterday when he reminded her of her name tag. Clarke flushed, the sticker had been from Charlotte, when Clarke had tried to visit home last month.

"You could call me by my name. That worked just fine yesterday." She reminded him as she grit her teeth. He seemed to sense her irritation and smirked, a few dark curls spilling over his brow and into his eyes.

"Whatever you say Princess." He said with a wave of his hand as he stalked out of the store.

Clarke clenched her jaw. What an ass.

OK! Chapter two! let me just say that Clarke needed some back story. And so I wrote. :p I actually lost the first half of the chapter the first time that I wrote it and had to do it again but I think I'm happier with the edit that I got this time. So please leave a review and let me know that you loved it! ;)

~CherriDoll