Chapter 8
clem
Bethany’s mac and cheese is to die for. Like if I had to choose a last meal, it would be this.
Dax wasn’t lying with his “it’s the most delicious combination of crust and cheesy goodness.” So many cheese flavors combine to create the delectable, ooey taste buried under a perfectly crusted layer of breadcrumbs.
I should be more upset at Atlas for practically inviting himself over, but after sampling the meal, I can’t be mad.
I can only be grateful to this family, who keep taking us strays in and feeding us.
Three meals and counting today. Besides when we eat dinner at Willa’s, I can’t remember the last meal I didn’t have to prepare.
Not that I can get used to this treatment. Tomorrow, it’s back to reality.
The boys picked around the crust, but ate most of the small scoop of mac and cheese, Jace better than Atlas, but he’s my less picky child. He eats almost anything I serve, whereas Atlas is harder to please. After I reprimanded him, he’s been on his best behavior, which I’m thankful for.
“How are you liking our little town?” Merritt asks when we’ve finished.
“It’s different from North Carolina, but we’re liking it.”
“I love the lights,” Jace enthuses, his smile wide and proud. He’d enjoy them even if I didn’t have a hand in them, but since I did, it’s extra special.
“They are pretty spectacular,” Merritt agrees.
I almost cower under his praise, but I accept it with, “Thank you. It took some time, but I love how it all came together, how it’s my vision spreading light and joy through the town.”
“Did you know I was the first transplant to win the contest years ago?”
“Here we go,” Dax mutters under his breath. I’m sitting next to him—Bethany made sure of it—so it doesn’t escape my notice.
“No. I bet that caused quite a stir.”
Merritt’s chortle rocks the table. “You bet it did. Especially since I was still in high school, but I was determined. Had to show up the other guy eyeing the love of my life.”
“Oh, pshaw. There was never another man, and you know it.” Bethany rolls her eyes, but amusement twinkles in them. “I didn’t think he’d have a chance. Imagine my surprise when they announced his name.”
“I never doubted it for one second.” Merritt puffs his chest. I stifle my laughter behind my hand.
“What other Christmas traditions do you have here?” Atlas asks.
While Merritt and Bethany enthrall him and Jace with other holiday fun, Dax and I clear the table and start on the dishes.
“Make sure you take the leftovers, Clementine,” Bethany calls out from the dining room.
“Is she serious?” I don’t mean to speak the words aloud, but they slip out.
“Totes.”
I stare quizzically at him, my ears misunderstanding the word he said.
“Huh?”
“Totes. Mom’s totally serious. Take the leftovers.”
“How do you know ‘totes’?” My hands all soapy, I narrow my eyes in his direction.
“Like it’s a secret or something?”
He makes a good point. It’s strange coming from his mouth. And oddly sexy.
“I didn’t realize other people used it so commonly.”
“It’s not in my everyday vocabulary, but I like to throw it into conversation now and again. When it’s apropos.”
I raise my arm to smack him, but soapy water drips down, and I quickly place it back over the sink. “That is not a word you use. That’s a Willa word.”
Dax tilts his head, the smallest smile sliding onto his lips. “Hmm. That’s probably where I heard that one. She and Becks have a thing going of who can use the most absurd word.”
“I believe it. She used to think she was so smart from reading all her books and learning all the words. Gag me.” To accentuate my point, I make the sound.
“Do you not read?”
“Not like she does. Or did growing up. She reads less now that she’s busy writing her books with million-dollar words.
Though her readers don’t quite appreciate them like she did, so joke’s on her.
” I can’t believe I’m spilling so many secrets about Willa, things I’ve never told anyone before, things Keith wouldn’t listen to me complain about.
Yet, Dax is hanging on my every word. “But I can design a winning light show. Take that, Willafred.”
“And you have ideas for how to beat Beck’s ugly sweater.” He motions his hand like he’s wielding a sword. “Take that, Beckett.”
I giggle at his shenanigans. “Younger siblings can be so annoying, am I right?”
“Preach it. Though how much time can you have on her?”
“Ten entire minutes. But that’s not the point.” I push a falling lock of hair off my forehead with the back of my hand, careful not to get soap in my eye. “I’m still first and get to claim the oldest title.”
“Well, that’s something. I’ve only got fifteen months on Becks, but Heidi and Autumn are always quick to point out they’re older. The third is kinda sucky.”
“Aww. Always feeling left out?”
“Pretty much, yeah.” His tone turns serious. He casually leans up against the counter, waiting for something to dry with the towel in his hands. “But back to the sweater. I want to hear your ideas.”
“Now? I’m a little busy.” I hold up my hands as proof.
“Okay, when? We’re on a time crunch.”
“Oh, are we? You didn’t mention there was a deadline.” He’s so not expecting my answer, nor Willa’s brand of sarcasm. Only because it stays under wraps unless she’s around or I’m comfortable with someone.
Huh. Weird.
Except if I stop to think about it, from the first time I met him at Willa’s cabin last year, I’ve felt nothing but comfortable. Almost like it’s his job to put me at ease.
“Keep up, Clementine.” I’m lost in my head, so his statement makes little sense until I think back to the last thing I said. It’s an odd response to my statement, but he’s a bit of an odd duck.
I finish up the last of the dishes, dry my hands on the hand towel he points out is for hand drying, and turn to face him. “We’ll figure it out. I have the ideas. You’ll just need to approve them, and I can take the rest from there.”
“Where are these ideas you keep talking about?” His gaze sears into me. It should be way more irritating than it is.
I tap my temple. “Right here. Front and center.”
“And how will you get them out of there for me to see? I’m not a mind reader.”
“Trust me when I tell you, you’d be lost the minute you tried to get anything out of here. I told you, it’s a madhouse.” His eyes narrow, as if he doesn’t believe me. Which doesn’t matter since he can neither prove nor disprove my claim. “But I’ll draw them on paper for your perusal.”
“Okay, so we’ll do the tree tomorrow, then this Tuesday night? Does that work?”
Am I up for spending four days in a row with this man? I’m not sure I am. He’s already too deep in my head. What I should be doing is spending less time with him.
“I’ll check my schedule, make sure the boys don’t have anything,” I lie. The only thing they have is Atlas’s after-school program on Thursdays, which ends by four-thirty.
It doesn’t deter Dax. “Great. Let me know. I’m free once I close up the shop at five-thirty. I’ll bring dinner.”
“I can cook. Let me know what you like, and I’ll add it to my grocery list.” The longer this conversation lasts, the more bizarre it gets.
“Sure. Don’t make it sloppy joes and we’re golden.” His perfect lips curve into a smirk. If not for being at his parents’ house and my kids in the other room, I could smack him.
“I can’t believe you remember that.”
He stares at me for several beats, his face a mask of stoicism. I can’t figure out what he’s going to say next, nor what he’ll do. He’s a hard one to nail down and constantly surprising me, especially after today’s shenanigans.
He lets out a breath. “Honestly, I didn’t until the very last minute. My brain was working to come up with what Atlas told me last year, and I pulled it out of my ass. Are you fascinated?”
I’m so flummoxed by his response, all I can say is, “Yeah.” Why am I letting him have such a hold over me today? What Christmas magic is he working?
He beams at my answer as if I complimented him for winning an Olympic record, jutting his chest in the air. “Thought so.” He rubs his palms together. “This is going to be so amazing. Don’t let me down, k?”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” The words expel from my mouth on a whoosh, giving no forethought to the meaning behind them. Though I don’t expect to let him down. I’m up for the challenge, even before I knew it was a challenge.
Atlas runs into the room. “Mama, Mr. Nicholas says Santa comes to Winterberry for a visit. Santa himself. Can we go? Please? We have to go. I need to talk to the big guy this year about so much. Say we can go.” He uses his sad puppy dog face, the one he perfected when he was a toddler.
To combat it, I conjure memories of when he does something to get into trouble, or I’d give in every time.
“We’ll see when it is,” I start, interrupted by him grabbing my hand. I’m about to reprimand him, but he lets go of my hand and smiles.
“Oops, sorry. Mama, will you please come with me to the living room? Mr. Nicholas has the date on his phone.”
I can’t deny him this. He’s been worried since we moved into the cottage about how Santa’s going to find us this year since we’ve been back and forth from Vermont to North Carolina so many times.
“Sure thing, Attie.”
Forgetting I’m coming with him, he races ahead.
“It’s the second Sunday of December,” Dax whispers in my ear. “You know, for when you’re checking your calendar later.”
I turn around, not realizing he’s standing so close. Like a gentleman, he steps back, but the smirk doesn’t disappear. “Thanks.”
“I’ll be there, too.” He waggles his brow and takes off the way Atlas disappears, humming “Santa Claus is Coming to Town.”
What the hell is going on?
Why do I get the sense I won’t be in the dark too long?
After another hour spent with the Nicholas family, we finally depart for our house, leftover mac and cheese and some still-warm holiday cookies in hand.
Bethany refused to let us leave empty-handed.
How she had time to bake cookies while we were there is a mystery.
Was I so involved with the conversation I didn’t realize she was in the kitchen?
You were too enthralled with the youngest Nicholas present, my mind whispers.
I hate that it’s true. I couldn’t keep my gaze from tracking Dax’s movements and from hanging on his every word, like a child with a schoolgirl crush. I can’t understand how it even happened. When did he get so on my radar, so under my skin? It’s one of life’s greatest mysteries.
At home, I throw the boys in the shower together, despite Atlas’s protests. However, one “okay, but no Santa,” and he changed his tune quickly.
Once showered, we read books. I haven’t introduced them to Willa’s books yet, but Atlas is at the age where he’ll enjoy them soon. They’ll still go over Jace’s head, but he’ll sit and listen.
We’ve always geared our book selections toward Atlas because he has more opinions about what kind of stories he likes, so I wanted to make sure he was entertained. Jace doesn’t know any different, and I won’t change our routine unless he puts up a fight.
“This was such a fun day, Mama. Dax should come over all the time.” Jace’s words ricochet around my mind as I tuck him into bed. I can’t say where they’ll land or what effect they’ll have.
“Do you?”
His head bobs up and down. “Yep. I can’t wait to get our tree. Can we get a huge one like Mr. Nicholas has?”
A chortle bursts free, both at his excitement and how he’s forgotten we’ve discussed this.
“Nope. Not even a chance a tree that size would fit through our front door, let alone stand in our living room.” His good mood sours.
I don’t let it affect me. It’s simply not feasible.
“But we’ll get the biggest tree for our room. ”
A small smile creeps onto his lips. “That’s great. Love you.” From his supine position in the bed, he holds his arms out. I clutch his small body against mine, whispering loving words into his ear. “Night, Jacey. Sleep tight.”
“Night, Mama.”
From the top bunk, Atlas watches our exchange.
Again, I’m not sure when the habit started with me saying goodnight to Jace first, but Atlas is always patient, no matter that Jace sometimes asks a bunch of questions right before bed.
Not so much to drag out bedtime but because he’s genuinely inquisitive.
I think his mind has a lot of ideas for a five-year-old—gee, I can’t imagine where he gets them—and his imagination runs rampant, and nighttime is the time they unleash.
Some days, he gets most of them out in the bath, and other nights, like tonight, he’s too tired.
“What was your favorite part of the day, my boy?”
Atlas taps his chin, pondering the question I ask nearly every night. “I can’t decide on just one. And I’m not sure how I’m going to sleep tonight because I’m so excited about our Christmas tree.”
Again, I laugh. “Well, you better do your best or you’ll be too tired to get the tree tomorrow night.”
His eyes bug out. “I’ll do my very best to fall right to sleep.” He stretches his mouth in a yawn. “Yep, I’m tired.”
I kiss his cheek and forehead and hug him. “Night, Atlas. Love you.”
“Night, Mama. Love you the most.”
I dread the day he’s too big to make statements like that. I let him have it, even though my love for him is as big as the world’s oceans and no way could his be the “most.”
At the door of their room, I flip the light, wondering how I got so lucky to be chosen as their Mama.
No matter my relationship with their father is in shambles, they’ll always be the best thing that came out of being with Keith.