Chapter 11
dax
I shouldn’t know the exact color of her eyes—an emerald that shines like the diamond itself.
I shouldn’t know it’s the same color as the accent wall in her living room.
Yet, I know both. Because I’ve stared at both for longer than I’m willing to admit.
I needed to get out of her space. She was too close, which might have been my doing. I don’t know anymore. All I seem to know is wherever she is, I want to be. As close as possible without making things weird.
Which is weird. I’ll be the first to admit it.
The divorce isn’t final, and she’s not looking for another relationship. Who could blame her? Even if she were, I’m not the relationship type.
So why I’m obsessed with the woman is beyond any thinking, imaginative or based in reality.
But I can’t stay away.
I’ve been in her vicinity for the past three days, with a plan for tomorrow too, and my brain is already finding ways to extend it longer. What idea can I come up with to see her on Wednesday?
On Thursday?
Every day until eternity ends.
Wow, there is definitely something wrong with me.
I shake out of these maddening and impractical thoughts and go in search of where the boys ended up. Hopefully, she caught up with them because rational thought left the building when I commented about her eyes.
Ah, perhaps rational thought has escaped me for most of the last several days.
I meet up with the Powell family by the huge Christmas tree display. It’s a staple in the store and famous in our town because it’s the only decorated tree left up year-round. At least for public viewing. I wouldn’t be surprised if there are residents who also leave their trees up for the year.
It’s the only reason I’ve ever contemplated having an artificial tree. However, as Clementine explained, I’m not sure I could do it.
“Did we find everything we need?” I direct my question to the boys, not sure I can face Clementine at the moment.
“Tree topper, check. New ornaments, check.” Atlas ticks each item on his fingers.
“What about lights?” An important thought occurs to me. I take a step from the crowd, holding up my hands. “Serious question time. One, do you have lights for the tree?”
The boys both look at their mom. “There were some strings in the boxes, but I didn’t test them.
” A tinge of red coats her cheeks. I shouldn’t find it anything beyond a simple fact, though I can’t help being drawn to it.
Her cheeks give her away a lot—the consequences of having red hair and more sensitive skin. Each time, it’s more appealing.
Nope, I have an agenda and must get back to it.
“Rookie mistake, Clementine. We might have to pick up a few more boxes, which brings me to the most important of all serious questions.” I pause for dramatic effect, my gaze locking with each of theirs, ending with Clementine. “White or colored lights?”
I can’t give away my feelings. I can’t let my answer influence theirs. I also can’t change theirs just because it might be the “wrong” one. I have to be okay with whatever they say. The thought has my skin crawling slightly.
Atlas scrunches his nose and scratches his head. “I think ours are colored, right, Mama?”
I concentrate on Clementine, the red deepening her cheeks. “Yep, they are,” she confirms, her tone more embarrassed than before. I can’t figure out why.
“Okay, so colored it is.” I choke out the words, hoping they can’t pick up on the distaste in my mouth. “We should get a few boxes to make sure you’ll have enough. In case all of yours don’t work, it’s good to have extras.”
I turn around to head for the lights aisle, keeping my opinions to myself, the three of them trailing behind. There are lots of options to choose from, whether it’s white or colored, so I point out the ones I think are the most energy efficient and will last the longest.
“Do you string lights?” I ask Clementine, breaking the silence we’ve found ourselves in.
“I do. It’s the one thing I do well. It’s been my job for a while, but like everything in my life, a Christmas tree is a blank canvas, and my mind does well with a clean slate.”
My eyes blink, taking in her explanation, something I’ve never considered but can see the appeal. And suddenly, I need to see how her brain works while she hangs the lights.
Good thing I’m going to be there tomorrow to help.
“Great. Are you a person who uses a lot of strings or are you stingy with them?”
“Depends on my mood. Depends on what design feels right.”
“Interesting.” I’m more intrigued.
Her gaze swings back and forth between the boxes of lights and me. When I notice it veering to the white lights, a feeling of excitement surges through me.
Nope, do not influence her decision.
One more glance at the lights, she turns to face the boys. “Anyone up for a new tradition this year? A fresh start of sorts.”
Atlas raises his brow. “Another one? We have a lot of new things this year, Mama.”
“This one won’t be too disturbing, I don’t think. You might not even notice it.” She tries to appease his concern, and she’s doing a good job. Jace seems oblivious to what’s going on, his attention gone from our discussion and on something at the end of the aisle.
“What is it?”
“How about we try white lights this year? If we hate them, we can always go back to colored next year,” she quickly adds, sweetening the pot.
The amount of gratification running through me at her plan is insurmountable. Atlas has to agree. She’ll give him this choice. I don’t know how I know, but I do.
“I don’t know,” he murmurs, not convinced. I bite my cheek to keep my ideas from spilling out. Then his gaze slides to me. “What color do you have, Dax?”
“White.” The one word is all I say. It’s a simple, factual answer, no opinion needed.
“And your trees were so pretty. Hmm.” He cocks his head from side to side, considering it. As if it’s the most important decision he’ll make.
From where I sit, it is, but I can’t let any of them know it.
I wait with bated breath, totally invested in his answer though I have no stake in any of this.
After what feels like an eternity, he nods. “Okay, let’s try it.”
Internally, I celebrate. Externally, I say, “Good choice.” I contain the grin wanting to emerge. I point to the ones on my tree. “These are what I have. They last long and give off good light.” I gesture to another set. “But these are also good.”
Clementine swipes five boxes of the first ones and drops them in the cart. “Okay, now I think we’re done.” She surveys the cart. “Oh, shoot. We didn’t get a stand.”
“They’re on the way to pay. I’ll get you set up with the best one they offer that won’t break the bank.”
With that settled, we trudge to the stands, and I shove the best choice on the bottom of the cart she pushes.
“Let’s check out before anything else jumps in our cart,” Clementine declares with a grin.
We head for the checkout, and I internally groan at the woman behind the counter. Seems Lillith Canterbury isn’t too thrilled to see me either. Probably because I haven’t returned her calls or texts.
“Dax Nicholas,” she spits. “Surprised to see you here so late in the season. Weren’t your trees decorated weeks ago?”
“Shopping with a friend.” As she loads up the items on the conveyor belt, I don’t miss the way Clementine’s sight volleys between the two of us, her smile from moments ago vanished. “First Winterberry Junction Christmas for these three.”
“How lovely of you to help,” Lillith deadpans, her narrowed eyes aiming daggers my way.
In my defense, I never led her on. Her one-sided crush developed on its own, and I’ve been polite in my limited—on purpose—interactions with her.
Since high school, I’ve tried to let her down easily when she’s suggested meeting for coffee or lunch or anything else, but she refuses to take a hint.
I don’t know what else I can do to let her know I’m not interested.
Even using the words “I’m not interested” hasn’t gotten me anywhere.
She holds my stare for a few beats until Clementine clears her throat, though it’s Atlas who gripes, “This is taking forever.” I can’t be certain it’s on purpose, but I’m not complaining.
Unfortunately, there’s no line behind us, so I can’t use that as an excuse.
After another minute, Lillith jumps into action, hastily ringing out the items we’ve all picked out, her gaze not leaving mine.
“Let’s not go breaking things if we can help it,” I mutter under my breath, hopefully loud enough for Lillith to realize what she’s doing. She can take her anger out on me, but the kids don’t need to be witnesses.
Hell, Clementine either, for that matter.
Not that I have anything to worry about or explain since there’s nothing going on between us, but we don’t need a scene. If she’d do her job and let us be on our way, life would be dandy.
Especially since we need time to set up the tree.
At this rate, it’ll be the boys’ bedtime before we get the chance.
Thankfully, the owner of the store steps in, asking, “Everything all good here?” breaking Lillith out of her self-induced trance. She smiles at the owner and lessens the rash motions, ringing out Clementine’s order first before mine.
When all is said and done, Clementine’s bill for the entire day is probably higher than she imagined it would be, though that’s me guessing based on nothing but a hunch. At least everything but the tree is reusable.
Clementine doesn’t mention the interaction with Lillith, though she has no reason to.
As far as she’s concerned, I’m a friend helping her out.
Right about now, I might be the one who needs the reminder.
Back at their house, the boys and Clementine carry in the bags from the store, while I get the tree out of the truck. I rest it against the house on the porch so I can set up the stand first.
Inside her living room, they’re already making room for the tree. I can’t help but watch them work together, moving things and making sure there’s an empty path to the corner where the tree will go.