Chapter 3
clem
Perhaps it’s not my best decision to have indulged in the delicious drink at Beckett’s.
Or continuing now as Dax drives me and the boys home.
I’m only past tipsy, but I don’t have another adult to rely on anymore if I drink.
Not that Keith was the most reliable, but at least he was an adult body, someone to help if I needed it.
Now, it’s me, and me alone. Sure, I’ve got Willa, but she’s a newlywed.
I can’t keep dumping my crap on her. She’s in the honeymoon stage, and for her sake, I hope it never ends.
Keith and I never had that. Even at the beginning, it wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows. I liked him enough, but it’s not like I loved him when we got married. Two pink lines were to blame for the hasty marriage. Without them, we wouldn’t have lasted much longer than a year, if that.
When Atlas was a toddler, I contemplated leaving him, but he begged me to stay. He’d get his act together if I didn’t leave. And he did. For about six months, just long enough for another set of pink lines to interrupt our lives.
If I’m honest, I’ve been making stupid decisions all my life. They just keep getting more drastic.
“We’re here.” Dax’s voice interrupts my ruminations.
We don’t live far from Main Street, but certainly I didn’t daydream the entire drive. Staring through the windshield, it appears I have.
By some miracle of all miracles, Autumn helped me find an affordable rental, probably the only rental in town in my budget.
It’s not much, but it’s got two bedrooms, a bathroom, an open floor plan kitchen and dining space, a small living room, a finished basement, and all utilities included.
It needs a little TLC, but when the owner found out about my artistic ability and creative talents, we made a deal I could make upgrades—with his permission—as I see fit.
In return, he knocked even more money off the already reduced rent.
Since we moved in in July, I spend a few hours a week on what I call “house projects,” much of which has been prepping things to be painted, sanding cabinet doors and drawers, and scrubbing every surface in the cottage.
I’ve got a long way to go to make it more homey, but it’s been a pleasant distraction most days.
And at least I get to work on it while the kids are home, so I don’t have to ask anyone to babysit.
I turn to the man on my left. The overhead light showcases his handsome side profile.
A layer of stubble disguises his otherwise chiseled jaw and chin. Michelangelo could have carved his angular nose. Tiny wrinkle lines enhance his eyes.
“Thanks again for driving us home.” At the sound of my voice, he faces me.
“You’re welcome. Happy to help. How was the eggnog?”
“Utterly amazing.” I can’t help the sigh falling from my lips.
“I don’t know where Beckett finds all these scrumptious concoctions, but he’s never steered me wrong.
” I’m not sure I should be admitting so much to Dax, in front of the boys, no less, but my lips seem looser around him.
Like he’s someone I can trust with my secrets.
“Yeah, it’s kind of annoying how many talents he has, some of them wasted on a guy like him.”
I can’t read his meaning exactly. Is he jealous of Beckett? From the little I know about Dax, he’s got some fine qualities. He’s a dedicated uncle, a great son, and from what I can tell, a talented mechanic. He’s kind and generous with his time and willing to help a friend, as evidenced tonight.
“When do you need your car tomorrow?”
“Whenever. We don’t have any pressing plans.”
“A perfect day for a trip to Target. What time should I be here?”
I’m momentarily confused by what he’s talking about until our earlier conversation slams into me.
He agreed to watch the boys while I go shopping.
“How about you bring more of those bagels you brought to Aunt Willa’s house last month? Jace and I loved them. And then you can tell Mom where to get them because she claims she doesn’t know.”
I close my eyes at the way my oldest throws me under the bus, letting Dax in on more of my secrets.
“Atlas,” I chide, though I’m not sure which part I’m reprimanding him for. Both have equal ramifications.
With an amused grin, Dax shifts his torso toward the back seat, zoning in on Atlas. “Bagels, huh? What kinds?”
Oh my god. I can’t believe he’s entertaining this idea. No wonder my son’s so enamored with him.
“Cinnamon raisin for me. Blueberry for Jace. Mom says she likes everything, but her favorite is the rainbow one. Oh, and we’ll need cream cheese, too.”
I nearly choke as Atlas rattles off our order, like this is a sure thing. I shove my hands over my flaming face, hoping to sink into the chair.
“Rainbow. Got it.” I can’t see Dax’s face, but delight shines in his tone. “Anything else?”
“A large hazelnut coffee with almond milk and two hot chocolates with regular milk.” Just when I think he’s done, he prattles, “Oh, and don’t forget your favorite bagel and hot beverage.”
A strangled sound escapes my throat. How does this kid get me into these situations? How do I get him to understand when it’s appropriate to ask for something and when it’s not?
“Great. What time do you normally eat breakfast?”
“Since it’s the weekend, after eight. School days are earlier because, school.”
As embarrassed as I am, I have to stifle the laugh trying to break free with Atlas’s comment.
“Wait. If you bring my car back, how will you get home when it’s time for you to leave?”
“I’ll find a ride. Dad, Beck, Autumn. Someone will grab me. Don’t worry your pretty little head about it.”
“Mama’s so pretty.” Jace, ever my biggest fan. Despite the circumstances of how he was conceived, my life wouldn’t be complete without him. I knew it the minute they placed him on my chest, the feeling so different from Atlas’s birth.
“Thanks, Jacey.” We’ve stalled enough, even if I didn’t realize we were stalling. “We should get inside, get them to bed.”
“Right. Must be getting to their bedtime.”
Since we’ve been sitting in the driveway for a few minutes, the boys are already unbuckled. I release mine, climbing out of the van with my purse and what’s left of the eggnog. I didn’t think I needed such a big second glass, but it’s too yummy to waste.
To say I’m shocked when Dax joins us in front of the van is an understatement.
“You don’t have to walk us in. I’m not completely impaired.”
Dax dares to chuckle, the sound drifting on the winds of the almost wintery evening.
“He’s right, you know?” He must read the confusion on my face.
“Jace.” I flip back to what Jace could be right about, but Dax beats me to the punch.
He leans in, making sure what he has to say is for my ears only.
“You are pretty, Clementine. Night. See you for breakfast.”
His compliment issued, he salutes the boys with a goodbye and climbs behind the wheel.
I’m blaming the way my body heats inside on the alcohol and not the sexy man who called me pretty.
The next morning, the doorbell rings at eight a.m. sharp. The boys and I snuggle in my bed, the best way to start a Sunday. Having to break from our cocoon is not high on my agenda until reality reminds me it’s most likely Dax at the door.
With bagels and cream cheese, because my little con man swindled him into it. Still working out a way to get Atlas to understand why we don’t do this.
I’ll be working on it for a while.
“That’s probably Dax with breakfast,” I inform the boys. They take less than thirty seconds to throw off the covers and bounce out of bed, through the door, and down the hall. “Don’t open it unless you know it’s him.” Hopefully, my message gets through to them, but I’m not too concerned.
As if robbers ring doorbells.
My head shakes with laughter. Being back in the same state as Willa is wearing off on me.
I meander from bed, remembering too late I slept in a raggedy T-shirt and holey joggers last night. Turning on my heel to grab a robe, Dax’s jovial voice fills the house.
“Morning, boys. Breakfast has arrived.”
I can’t hear what, if anything, the boys respond with, but when I enter the open space, I’m greeted with a sight causing my feet to cease movement.
Dax couldn’t have been inside our house for longer than two minutes, yet his coat is off, the food is spread out on the table, and the boys are sitting in their chairs like civilized children instead of the feral creatures usually inhabiting my kitchen.
“Morning, Clementine.”
I hate the long version of my name with a passion. Unless it comes from Dax’s mouth. And he doesn’t even know I hate it. He’s done it all on his own from the time we met, never understanding the complications swirling through me when he addresses me.
“Morning.” I wave my hands toward the table. “Thank you for this.”
“Sure thing.” His eyes rove down the front of me, almost as if he can see what I’m wearing beneath the robe. Under his scrutiny, I tighten the belt holding the robe in place. “Come join us.”
So glad I need an invite in my kitchen.
I refrain from rolling my eyes. He meant nothing by it. Besides, we only have breakfast because of him.
“Don’t mind if I do.” I take a seat across from him.
“I didn’t get them toasted since I didn’t know if we’d be eating right away.” Do I sense some hesitation in his voice?
“No worries. We’ve got a toaster for anyone who wants theirs warm.”
“Me, please,” Atlas says.
“Yep, me too,” Jace confirms with a nod of his head.
I dig in the bag for their bagels, confused to find so many. I gaze at Dax. “This is more than necessary.”
“Dude, no one goes to the bagel store for four bagels. They would have laughed me out of the store. I grabbed a couple for myself, but the rest are yours.”
This man surprises me at every turn. Just when I think I have him pegged, he’s all, surprise, here’s another side of me you haven’t seen yet. It’s a little unnerving.
At least his surprises are positive. Not like the whole, surprise, I have another wife my ex-husband hit me with. I shudder at the notion, burying it deep where it belongs.
“That was kind of you, thanks.” Dax smiles in return. “Do you want yours toasted?” He’s set a cinnamon raisin on his plate, which he pushes toward me.
“Please.”
“Coming right up.”
While I busy myself with heating the bagels, Dax asks the boys what they want to do while I’m gone.
“Do you play Minecraft?” Atlas inquires.
“It’s been a while. I’m a little rusty, but I’m a quick learner.”
“We also have Super Mario Kart if you’re less rusty on that one.”
Dax chuckles, and the sound is so carefree, so roaring, it zings me in places it shouldn’t.
Good thing I’ve sworn off men. If I’m not careful enough, Dax would make a perfect rebound fling, someone to tide me over until when—if—I decide to get with another man.
“That one is new to me. If you want to play, you’ll have to teach me.”
“Do you like to color?” Jace asks. It’s his favorite activity, and it warms my heart.
He’s always been above average with artistic skills, staying within the lines way sooner than kids his age.
Heck, Atlas still has trouble, though I think it’s more his personality than lack of artistic skills. At least it’s what I tell myself.
I chance a peek at the table. Dax scratches his head, mussing his already rumpled hair.
Like he didn’t bother running a brush through it this morning.
I don’t focus on how the length is the longest since I’ve known him, or how I itch to run my fingers through the thick strands. Nope, not thinking about any of it.
“It’s been a long time since I’ve colored, but that can be added to the list. What else?”
“We should go see the lights.”
“It’s daytime,” I prompt.
“And we don’t have a car,” Dax pipes in.
“Ah, shucks. So we’re stuck here all day.”
“I’m sure your mom won’t be gone all day.” I can’t decipher the emotions behind his statement, how he would feel if I stayed out all day. Not that I would. I won’t take advantage of his kindness.
“Nope. One errand and I’ll be back. Probably before lunch.”
“No rush.” At Dax’s comment, I peer at him. Like earlier, his expression is unreadable.
“I’m thinking there’s only so much time one can spend roaming aimlessly at Target.”
“Huh. That’s not the impression I get from my sisters. They can definitely spend all day at the store. Two, if someone let them.”
“You don’t say.”
Besides when the boys are at school or I’m working, I have little experience with “free” time to myself. Certainly not for a shopping day at Target.
The mall? Sure.
A day at the spa? If the opportunity arose, sign me up.
But Target? I’m failing to see how more than an hour, two at the most, could be wasted there.
As much as I’m excited to spend a few hours on my own, it’s a luxury I’m never afforded.
This should be interesting.
After breakfast, I take a quick shower and get ready.
When I emerge from my bedroom, the boys cuddle next to Dax on the couch, the remote in his hand, all their attention focused on the TV.
It’s a scene I should be familiar with. Swap out Dax for their father, and it shouldn’t be so shocking. But yet it is.
One, because Keith isn’t the dad who cuddled with them on the couch. When he was home, he was usually on his phone or reading a magazine. They had to beg him to spend time together.
Two, because I never pictured Dax Nicholas as the kind of man who so casually cuddles with other people’s children other than his nieces. Not that he’s ever come out and said it’s not his thing, but I’ve gotten the impression from Willa he’s more of a “keep to himself” kind of guy.
I fight the urge to stealthily snap a photo. I have no excuse for why I’d need it.
I stand off to the side of the TV. “Okay, I’m leaving now.”
Jace slithers off the couch for a hug. He squeals in my arms when I lift him in the air, the sound one of my absolute favorites. So much so, I have it saved as an audio recording on my phone for the days I need a pick-me-up.
When I set him down, he scrambles back to the couch, tucking himself into Dax’s side. For his part, Dax shuffles his arm to make Jace more comfortable.
It’s like I’ve entered an alternate universe or the Twilight Zone.
“Bye, Atlas.” At the age where he’s too cool to hug his mom, he waves in the vicinity of my voice.
Dax’s brown gaze meets mine. “Have fun. Indulge. Take your time. I’ll hold down the fort here.”
“Yeah, okay.” They’re the only words I can push through my mouth. If I try to say more, I can’t be trusted.