Chapter 6
clem
Why I thought accompanying an author to a bookshop was a good idea will forever be the million-dollar question.
The store is quaint, filled with bookshelves of different colors against the walls, the scent of paper and words tickling my nostrils.
Overflowing tables of books boast special editions and highlight various series for children and adults.
In the children’s section, Willa’s books are on prominent display, and I smile with pride seeing her “name” on them.
Front and center, an entire table offers holiday books and gifts.
Willa spends a solid twenty minutes discussing books with Alanna, the owner. Half of the acronyms they used went over my head.
Next, she chats with a few of the customers, which is totally sweet. I snap a bunch of photos for her to send to her assistant for her social media accounts. My sister’s so smart, she even brought her “Evelyn Ravenhurst” glasses to pull off the look.
When she decides she needs a new book to read in her “spare” time, I pick out a few books for the boys. I take ten minutes to Willa’s twenty. For someone who hardly ever leaves the house, she sure knows how to spend lots of time out of it.
“I hope you’ll come back and bring your boys,” Alanna gushes as we’re checking out, her smile big.
“They’ll love it.” I’m not just saying it. Atlas, especially. He’s loved books since he was little. Jace tolerates listening to books, but Atlas is a reader.
“Can’t wait to meet them. Where are they now?”
“They’re at my house with Dax.”
As soon as I mention his name, her demeanor changes. “Dax. Kids. Babysitting. Ugh.” If her awkward one-word sentences don’t convey her feelings, her disapproving expression surely does. “How’d you make that happen?”
Most of what I know about Dax’s dating and relationship history filters through Willa’s lens, and the storytelling one at that. Not that I’m looking for anything with him beyond his help today, but Alanna has opinions. Strong ones.
I shrug. “He offered. So far the boys seem to be fine, but who knows what I’ll find when I’m back home.” I chuckle, more for Alanna’s benefit than mine. Long as Atlas doesn’t work his magic on him, we should be good.
“Good luck to you with that man. Not the settling-down type. Especially with kids involved.” She balls up her fists on the counter and seems like she wants to share more.
“Well, we should be on our way,” Willa admits, grabbing her bag of books. “See you in a few weeks.” She rushes me out of the store and into the van. “Man, what I wouldn’t give to dig deeper into that history. But at least you can take my word for him not being the settling-down type.”
I let her words nestle in as we’re finally on the way to dropping her off at home. I checked in with Dax, who assured me things were still great, yet I’m fully prepared to walk into a disaster when I arrive home.
“Clementine, this was a blast. Good idea. Let’s do it again soon, yeah?”
“Sure thing, Willafred. In my spare time.” I try to contain the bitterness, but some spills out.
It’s not often I regret the life choices I’ve made, but it was freeing not having to worry about how the kids were behaving, listening to endless comments and questions about nothing at all, and only having to take care of my needs for a few hours.
“How about this? Beckett and I take the boys for a sleepover next weekend, and you do whatever you want for the night. By yourself. Or not.” She waggles her brows. “We can come to your house or take them to ours. Beckett will love having more people to entertain.”
I chuckle. “He will. Sold. We’ll figure out the plan as it gets closer.”
“Great.” She peeks in the back of the van. “Want to help me with my bags?”
“Not particularly. What good is having a hot husband if not to carry your bags?”
“I mean, sex.” If I were drinking something, the liquid would have sprayed out. Except she’s not wrong, as she made clear earlier.
I don’t know what that’s like. Sex, sure, but the way she describes her sex life is foreign. That’s not been my experience with Keith or the one before. It was more a scratching of an itch, a means to an end. I wonder what it would be like to have sex with a hot guy, one who knows what he’s doing.
An image of Dax fills my mind, which I immediately shut down. Like that’s ever going to happen. Even for a fling. I wouldn’t even know how to initiate such a conversation with him if given the chance. As if he’d even agree to one time, if only to feel how good it could be.
Willa’s hand on my arm rips me from thoughts of sex with Dax.
“You’ll find someone, you know. Someone deserving of you and the boys. Someone who will be the total package and you’ll understand.”
“I wasn’t . . . ” She raises a brow, challenging me. Damn twin senses. I exhale loudly and slump against the seat. “My marriage to Keith resulted in my boys and taught me what I don’t want in a relationship. That counts for something.”
“Surely. There’s always something to learn from every experience.
And you don’t have to have your life figured out by the time the ink dries on your divorce.
You’re young and vibrant. Super talented.
The right man is going to be freaking fortunate to have you.
But until then, take care of yourself, Clem.
Self-care, especially during the holidays.
You’ve had a stressful year. Use these next few weeks to take a load off, revel in the holiday spirit, infuse joy into your life. ”
My head rotates to take her in. “Sounds like something I’ve said to you in the past.”
She shrugs. “I understand them now, but they were wise words. You should heed past Clem’s advice. Love you.” She taps the trunk button and hops out. From the rearview mirror, I watch her at the back of the van as she loads her arms with bags. “Kiss the boys and tell them I love them.”
“Will do.”
“Oh, and hit the button, would ya?” She backs away, our eyes meeting in the mirror.
“Got it. Love you, kid. Talk later.”
I hit the button to close the liftgate, and Willa starts her trek to the house. I wave to Beckett standing on the porch. When she reaches him, he takes the bags from her. Before going inside, he sets them down, bringing her into his arms, like she’s been gone for days instead of hours.
A resigned sigh expels, keeping me company the entire ride back to my house.
I leave my bags in the van because I don’t want the boys to see the presents I bought. I’ll grab them once they’re asleep.
Entering through the front door, I’m met with a sight: Dax and the boys are sitting at the table holding playing cards.
A stack of discarded cards sits between them.
It shouldn’t stir up emotions in me. I shouldn’t yearn for this to be a common occurrence.
Regardless of who, this shouldn’t be the first time my boys are playing cards with someone who isn’t me.
No matter how many times they begged their father to play with them or as a family, the asshole declined.
Atlas resigned himself at five that his dad wouldn’t be a “games” dad. Jace didn’t even have a chance.
And now, here’s this practical stranger, happily—as evidenced by his heartwarming expression—playing cards on a Sunday with them. Like he has nothing in the world more pressing. Like they deserve his time and attention.
“Mama, you’re back. I missed you.” Jace runs over, barreling into my legs. I lift him into the air, burying my head in his neck to hide the tears threatening to escape. Over a freaking card game.
Man, I’m more of a mess than I give myself credit for.
“Missed you too, Jacey.” I choke out the words in his ear, hoping he can’t detect the emotion in them.
He pulls his torso back, steadying himself with his hands on my shoulders. “We saved you pizza. Did you know Dax likes the same as you?” His enthusiasm is off the charts, and it transfers to me.
When the meaning of his words fully processes, I peek around him to Dax. “Imagine that.”
He ignores my narrowed glare. “Are you hungry? I put the leftovers in the oven to warm up.”
“Famished. Shopping took a lot out of me.”
Dax glances at Atlas. “Can we take a time-out so I can get your mom lunch?”
“I can do it.” I’m so used to doing everything myself, it feels awkward not to.
I’m stopped in my tracks when Atlas says, “No, Mama.” He peers at Dax, while all I can do is watch from where I’m rooted in place. “Sure, we can take a break.”
Dax gets up from the table, walks to the oven, removes the pizza, and sets it on the counter. He puts a couple of pieces on a plate, setting it at the empty spot at the table next to him. “What can I get you to drink?”
I’m so flabbergasted, I don’t move immediately.
Again, it’s a simple gesture, one that shouldn’t be this shocking.
Not once would Keith have taken it upon himself to do something for me.
At least not of his own accord. Yet here’s this man, who volunteered to be here, to give up time on his Sunday so I could do something nice for myself, and now he’s feeding me lunch.
Lunch he ordered and had delivered on his own and had the forethought to keep warm for me.
The words Willa said earlier echo in my mind: He’s not built to be more than who he is. But right now, I’m too enthralled by his behavior to make any sort of sense about what it means. If it means anything.
“Sit.” Dax’s direct order further confuses me.
“Huh?”
He points to the table where he put the warm pizza. “Sit down, Clementine. Eat pizza. Drink whatever you want me to get you.”
I lower Jace to the ground and gape at this man who is attempting to take care of me, and all I can do is internally question his motives. Because, why? Why is he doing this? What’s in it for him?
When I don’t move fast enough for his liking, he physically walks me to the table with his hands on my shoulders.
“I don’t think you’ve said what you want to drink.”
“Water’s fine.”
Dax shakes his head. “Not what’s fine. What do you want?” He’s determined, I’ll give him that.
You.
Damn Willa for putting these stupid ideas in my head.
It makes little sense in the context of his question. I can’t drink him, but hell if my answer remains the same.
I want him. For whatever. One night, even, to experience the way he’d order me around the bedroom, because I’m going to assume that’s his style.
Based on this one interaction, which isn’t much to go on.
It dawns on me I still haven’t answered him. I clear my throat, swallowing down what I truly want. “I’d like raspberry seltzer, please.”
“Great. Cup or from the can?”
“Ew. Not the can. Never from the can.” I shudder. Drinking from a can or bottle is one of my pet peeves.
“Got it. Ice or no ice?” He grabs a cup from the cabinet.
“Two ice cubes.”
“Very specific. I like it.” He smiles, and the wattage could power the entire house.
“Not too demanding?”
My comment earns me a glare. “Um, no. I asked what you wanted, you answered. Not demanding.”
Ah, there lies the difference between this man and my ex-husband. Keith never asked if I wanted ice, so when I requested it, he’d call me demanding.
And he’d give me the drink with no ice.
Bastard.
Dax sets the glass in front of me and sits in the chair on my right. “Hi.”
I can’t help but giggle. “Hi. Thanks for all of this. Way above and beyond your offer of babysitting. Very much appreciated.”
“You’re welcome. Happy to help. Anytime. Your boys are sweet.”
I beam at his compliment. My boys are the best, even when they’re driving me up a wall and batshit crazy, which is seventy-five percent of the time. “Thanks.”
“Dax, we have to finish our game,” Atlas proclaims, still sitting in his chair. With all that Dax was doing for me, I almost forgot he was in the room.
“Sure, Ace. Let’s do it.”
Thirty minutes later, we pile into the van so I can drive Dax home.
I’ve only been to the Nicholases’ house twice.
This past summer before Willa’s wedding and once last Christmas, my first night in town.
It’s homey and cozy, almost the opposite of where Willa and I grew up.
Our childhood home was cold and bare, and we were lucky to have a tree.
In comparison, the Nicholases’ house is fully decorated for the season.
I was not privy to Dax’s basement apartment on either of my visits, so I can’t say what it looks or feels like. I find it a little odd he still lives in his parents’ basement, but am I one to judge? He doesn’t fit the mold or stereotype, so maybe it’s a temporary thing.
“Mama, did you know Dax has two Christmas trees at his house?”
“No, three. Two downstairs and one upstairs,” Atlas corrects his brother.
“Nope, that’s a new fact I’m learning.”
“Can we see them?”
I’m about to decline Jace’s request, but Dax beats me to it. “Of course. Well, your mom has to agree. I didn’t get the memo about what else is on your agenda today.”
“Nothing until bath time, right, Mama?” There’s so much in what Atlas doesn’t say in his pleading tone that makes me want to agree with him.
There’s no harm in seeing where the man lives, right?