Chapter 9
dax
“Hey, want to come for dinner tonight? I’m cooking steak.”
From my desk, I stare incredulously across the room at my brother. “What’s the catch?”
His brows furrow. “No catch. Can’t a guy invite his brother over to his house for a nice dinner? Why, you have other plans?”
“Indeed, I do.” I don’t mean to give it up so easily, but I’m too damn excited to contain it.
“No, really,” he says.
“No, really,” I parrot. “Thanks, but I’ve got plans.”
Why he’d think I don’t make plans in my spare time is beyond me.
“Mom and Dad won’t mind.”
I grab the closest piece of scrap paper, wad it up, and toss it in his direction. He easily snags it out of the air. Should have thrown a baseball or something harder.
“My plans don’t involve our parents, idiot. I have a life.”
“Oh.” When he infers what I’ve said sinks in, he raises a brow. “Oh. Gotcha.”
It’s more how he says it than what he says. Like he knows exactly what I’m doing, when it couldn’t be further from the truth. But do I want to correct him? Do I want him to know I’m helping Clementine and the boys get a tree?
I’m undecided.
“You going to her place? ‘Cause I’m sure you’re not bringing her to yours.”
He always takes it one step too far.
“Funny.”
“More like pathetic. Living in the ‘rents’ basement ‘cause you can’t leave the nest. I’m surprised you can get any woman to go out with you. Or is it because you don’t tell them where you live?”
It’s nothing I haven’t heard before—my siblings all like to tease me—but lately, it’s irked me more and more. Which means it’s time to make a move.
Soon-ish.
Maybe look after the holidays.
The thought raises my hackles.
There’s something unsatisfying about leaving, hell if I know why.
I don’t plan to live there for the rest of my life.
Despite my past, eventually I’d like to think I’ll find a woman and settle down.
Maybe have a kid or two, if it’s in the cards for us.
If not, definitely a dog or another pet.
I don’t want to move several times, though.
It’s easier to stay where I am until I’m officially ready to branch out on my own.
At least that’s the story I’m going with.
No one needs the truth. Least of all me.
I roll my eyes before stating, “I’m not going out with a woman.” But you are. “Well, not like that,” I correct. “I’m helping Clementine and the boys get a Christmas tree.”
“Clementine?” Becks asks, shocked. “My sister-in-law?”
“Is there another Clementine in Winterberry Junction I’m unaware of?”
“Probably not. How’d that come about? I didn’t know she needed help. I would have helped her.”
My mind conjures an image of the mischievous Grinch, because that’s what I feel like inside. Not as someone who doesn’t like Christmas so much as the mischief. Because I get to help her, be the hero for once, instead of Beck. And damn, that makes my selfish side delight with joy.
I don’t want to get into the entire story, so I claim, “It just did.”
“Hmm. And she’s okay with you helping?”
“Why wouldn’t she be?” Damn, jumped too fast on that one based on the way he glances at me, his brows raised to his hairline.
He shrugs. “Just that you’re not always dependable.”
I ignore most of his dig. “For things related to Christmas, I am.”
“True. You are. Well, that’s nice of you.”
“Thank you.” There’s more I want to say, but I’m already feeling annoyed with him. No sense in making it worse since I’ll be the one to suffer. “Maybe another night I’ll come for dinner.”
“Yeah, sure. No big deal.”
Yet, the way his shoulders tense, it was a big deal. Wish I knew why he’s so hell-bent on having me over for dinner. This is a recent development in our relationship, one I’m uncertain where it stems from.
Our office manager, Meredith, pops her head into the office. “I’m taking off for the night. Don’t stay too late. The cars will be here in the morning to fix.”
“Yes, boss,” Beck agrees with a salute. “I’m taking off as soon as I close out this invoice.”
“Yeah, same,” I confirm. My turned-off computer stares back at me.
“Actually, I’m done. The part I needed for Birdie’s car didn’t come in.
Hopefully, it’ll be here in the morning so I can get that off my docket.
” Even if the part arrives first thing, I doubt the car will be completely fixed by the end of the day.
After the engine is repaired, one door needs another coat of paint, and that will take several hours to dry.
But that’s Beck’s problem. Standing up, I motion to Meredith.
“I’ll walk you out.” Out in the lobby, I grab my jacket from the hook and slip it on. “Have a great evening.”
“You too. Text me your breakfast order.” She points a finger at me with a glare. “Tonight. Not in the morning when it’ll be too late to put it in.”
I hold up my hands. “Tonight. Got it.” I should do it right now so I don’t forget, but I’ve got more pressing matters.
“Or go without breakfast. Night, Dax.”
“Night, Meredith. Thanks for always keeping me on my toes.”
“Someone has to.” With a wave over her head, she disappears through the door.
Instead of ruminating on her comment, I text Clementine.
Leaving work. You sure you don’t want me to grab you and the boys so we’ll only have one car?
While I wait for her response, I head outside into the chilly weather. They’re predicting a cold, snowy winter. I say, bring it on. As soon as I have a free day, I plan to head to a nearby mountain to ski. The more fresh powder on the trails, the better.
Clementine’s text comes through as I settle behind the wheel. I start the engine, giving the truck time to warm up.
You claimed you weren’t a mind reader, but I was literally about to text you. The van won’t start. I’m pretty sure it needs a jump. Add it to the list of things going wrong in my life
I hit call instead of messaging back a diatribe.
She answers with a sigh. “I left the stupid light on, and it drained the battery.”
“I didn’t realize you were an expert on cars.”
“It’s one of my best-kept secrets.”
“One of?” I can’t help but question. I should keep my mouth shut, but I’ve never been good at listening to my advice.
“Oh, Dax. I have so many buried secrets, you might as well bring a shovel one of these days to unearth them.”
There’s so much to unpack in her statement, but the one thing standing out the most is the fact she’s willing to unload her secrets on me. If I’m up for the challenge.
Which I am.
“Shit.”
“That’s a bad word, Mama,” comes from the background.
“Oops, sorry.” Her voice is fainter as she speaks to one of her boys. It’s too hard to tell which one. “How about you come to my house and jump my car, and then we’ll figure out the plan?”
“Perfect. And in case it needs more than a jump, I’ll be happy to diagnose the problem.”
“That would be great. Fingers crossed it’s a quick fix.”
“What if I wanted to get my hands on your engine?” The words out of my mouth, I close my eyes and rest my head against the headrest at how that sounds.
Or maybe it only sounds sexual to me.
Clementine’s cough echoes across the line.
Guess it’s not just me.
“I’m hoping it doesn’t come to that. Sorry to burst your bubble. Can’t imagine what that would cost.” She’s quiet for several seconds, but before I can speak, she says, “Let’s hope it’s the battery.”
“You’d get the friends and family discount for sure. Becks would have my head if I charged Willa’s family full price.”
“That’s good. But again, I’m going to hope it’s not that.”
“Fine, be that way.” My mouth gets away from me yet again. I need to learn to control my inner thoughts around her. “I’m on my way. Be there shortly.” I hang up without waiting for her to respond. If I don’t, who the hell knows what else I’d say.
Thankfully, the car only needs a jump. To assure her it needs nothing more—and also for my peace of mind—I test the battery to be certain it’s not bad.
Once that’s handled, we’re on the way in my truck to get the tree.
It took little convincing once I mentioned it would be easy to toss it in the back rather than have to tie it on top of hers.
She moves Jace’s car seat into my truck like a pro, not even needing help getting it out of the van and into my truck. Like she’s done this before.
Most likely because she’s used to doing everything on her own.
My heart squeezes for her. I hate how her ex was such a douche and how she’s practically raised the kids on her own, even with another parent in the picture. Autumn’s ex left her and Shania when Shania was a baby, but she only had one. I can’t imagine doing it with two.
I shake out of these thoughts and park in the lot next to the trees.
Once the engine is off, I unbuckle and lean over the console. “Okay, boys, we need ground rules. There’s an art to picking out a tree.”
“This should be good,” Clementine mumbles beside me, only loud enough for me to hear.
“One. Never pick the first tree you like.” Atlas nods, completely on board. Jace smiles. “Two. Everyone has to agree on the tree. It can’t be three-fourths or half. It must be unanimous.”
“Three-fourths?” Clementine spits. “Didn’t realize you had a say in picking our tree.”
Whoops. Open mouth, insert foot.
“Two-thirds,” I correct, peeking at her over my shoulder. “Three out of three. I’m merely here for moral support and to provide the muscles to carry the tree.”
Clementine snickers. “Better.”
“Three. You must look at all angles of the tree and envision it in your space.” A thought occurs, and I focus on Clementine again. “Wait. Where’s the tree going?”
“In the living room.”
“K, but where in the living room?”
“Does it matter?” she says, exasperated.
“It matters. Think about my parents’ tree. It would look completely different in the corner of the room by the window. The lights would shine differently and cause weird reflections. Do we want that?”
“No,” Atlas states. “How about in the far corner? We don’t have to move much, and it will light up that side of the room.”
“Yes. Brilliant. Great thinking.” I look at Clementine for clarification. Ultimately, she has to agree. It’s her tree and house.
“That’s where I was thinking.”
“Super. Moving on.”
“Five.”
“Four,” Atlas corrects, always paying attention to his surroundings.
“Four,” I amend, thinking about the next rule. “Nope, only three. You’re well-versed and ready to pick out a tree. Coats, hats, and gloves on. It’s cold out there.”
The boys follow my direction, and Clementine stares at me. “What?”
“No-nothing,” she stutters.
“Sure it is. Let’s go. Coat on. Did you bring your new gloves?”
She digs in her pocket for her gloves, producing my worn pair. “Oops, no.”
“Those will work.”
They dwarf her small hands, but a thrill runs through me knowing she kept them even when she bought herself a new pair.
This year’s Christmas magic is wreaking all kinds of havoc on me.