Chapter 12
clem
I need him out of my house.
I need him out of my space.
I need him . . .
Ugh.
After all Dax’s done for us today, I simply can’t kick him out now that his job is completed.
Now that our perfectly imperfect Christmas tree is standing upright in the stand and the branches prepared to fall into their positions.
At least the pine scent is more overbearing than Dax’s.
I’m taking every little win I can, no matter how insignificant.
But yeah, he needs to leave. He needs to take his handsome, cocky, sweet-ass self and walk out the door. Mostly before I beg him for something I have no right even asking for. No matter my desire for Dax, it’s inappropriate and a colossal mistake.
Even for me.
While I’ve been busying myself with cleaning up the dinner dishes I neglected when it was time to leave earlier, he’s been tinkering with the tree in the stand, making sure it’s perfect.
He can’t help inserting himself into the project, taking over.
In this case, I’m allowing it. I wasn’t kidding when I told him I had next to zero desire to shop for the tree, let alone do everything needed to get it inside and set up.
And now, he’ll be here to help decorate tomorrow as well, something else that has the butterflies in my abdomen flipping with delight.
Long as he doesn’t mess with my ideas for how the lights will go on.
In case he feels the need to voice his opinions, I might put them on before he gets here.
Sure, in my spare time.
“Well, I guess my job here is done.” Dax’s comment breaks through my trance, pulling me out of my head and back to the present.
Jace throws his arms around Dax’s legs. “Thank you.” His gratitude is genuine, and I love that he feels comfortable with another adult male. Doesn’t hurt it’s Dax.
Dax musses his hair and taps his back, not put off in the slightest about my kid’s need for a hug. He welcomes it, another thing I love for Jace. “Sure thing, Jinglebug. Happy to help.”
Jinglebug. Gah. Could that be any cuter for Jace? And the way he calls Atlas Ace also pulls on my heartstrings. If I let myself get sucked into it too far, I’ll be a mess.
“Yeah, thanks,” Atlas says, observing their interaction from a distance. He holds his hand out, and Dax doesn’t question it, instead placing his hand in my son’s as if it’s a business transaction. My heart squeezes at how he follows their lead, indulging each of their requests on their terms.
Keith wouldn’t have even acknowledged their appreciation.
Gah. I have to stop comparing Dax to my ex. It’s not a healthy way to pass the time.
I’ve already expressed my gratitude to Dax, but the boys don’t know that, so I say, “Thank you for this evening, Dax. Your help has been very helpful.” A wordsmith I am not.
He snickers. “Glad I could help.” Is it me, or is there an undercurrent of . . . something in the way he emphasizes help? Probably me.
“We’ll see you tomorrow. Text me when you’re on your way, and I’ll make sure dinner is ready when you get here.”
“I’m not the guy who needs to sit down to a hot dinner the minute he walks through the door.”
His implication is clear, though it’s odd in the context of our relationship.
“Noted” is all I can say.
“Night, Clementine.”
The way he uses my whole name—probably on purpose; he seems like that kind of guy—might be one of the sexiest things about him. It shouldn’t affect me the way it does, but I can’t help the emotions flooding me every time.
“Night, Dax. Thanks again.”
He tips his imaginary hat. “My pleasure.” He zips up his coat and vanishes through the front door.
It takes about five full minutes for my heart rate to regulate before I announce, “Shower time.” Atlas doesn’t even suggest doing it on his own, even though I would have given in tonight.
But since I don’t have to, I help them get in together, making sure they’re all washed before they get out, all the while my mind replaying this entire night on a loop.
“That meal was delicious, Clementine.” Dax pats his stomach, selling his appreciation. His tone is sincere, and I don’t question the fact he enjoyed it. Not when he heartily ate two large servings, moaning through some bites, the sound almost making me come at the table.
In front of my boys.
Totes inappropriate on every level.
“Yeah, Mama. So good.” Jace smacks his lips. It’s one of his favorite meals, and he always lets me know how much he loves it, no matter how often I make it.
“It wasn’t as spicy tonight,” Atlas opines, his tolerance of the meal apparent.
“Great to hear. I’ll make a note for next time.”
“Can we decorate the tree now?” Jace’s enthusiasm is off the charts. The first thing he did when he woke up this morning was check on the tree, smiling at the bareness in the corner.
I had time to put on the lights, mostly to make sure they were how I wanted them. Without input from the peanut gallery.
“Yep. It’s ready for ornaments. And Dax can help us put on the tree topper. Maybe we should do that first.”
“What about the lights?” Dax questions, curiosity in his tone and expression.
“They’re on. The white lights were the way to go this year. The switch is on the wall to turn them on.”
He pushes from the table, stalking first to the wall to flip the switch and then to the tree, standing in front of it, his hands behind his back, examining the placement of the lights.
He walks to one side, gets closer to see them, then to the other side, the same scrutiny there, going so far as practically sticking his head in the tree, landing back at his starting position.
The boys and I join him in the living room.
“Well?” I’m not nervous about his reaction because they look good.
I’m confident in my abilities and proud of my work, and I won’t let him say otherwise, no matter his “expertise” in Christmas trees.
But I’m curious about what he’ll say. If he’ll even give his true thoughts or censor them for the boys’ sake.
“Impressive. Nice use of weaving and equitable distribution, making sure all the branches have a similar number of lights. I’m not questioning your contest win anymore.”
“You questioned my win?” I blurt. What the hell? He hasn’t said anything of the sort before. Stupidly, my heart rate kicks up. I’m more invested in his opinion of my work than I realize.
His guffaw is loud in the otherwise quiet room. “Kidding. I question the judges’ choices only because I’ve yet to be nominated.” His smile is blinding, even in front of the lighted tree, and my heart rate plummets back to normal.
I swipe the back of my hand across my brow. “Phew. I didn’t want to have to ask you to leave or anything, thinking I didn’t deserve the title bestowed upon me by the impartial committee.”
“Never.” His tone is serious, and his expression morphs into contrite. Almost as if he feels bad for leading me on.
Why, I haven’t a clue.
“Seriously, Clementine. Nice job.”
“Thank you.”
“It still needs ornaments,” Atlas mumbles, his patience wearing thin. Like his brother, he’s very excited to decorate it.
I’m letting them put up the ornaments of their choosing wherever they want and won’t be the mom who rearranges after they’re done. It’s our tree, not mine, and they shouldn’t be punished for not having experience because of their age. We all have to learn sometime. This is their time.
“Once Dax puts up the star, you can have at it.”
With my permission given, Dax grabs the star and stands on the small stool to put it into position. Weirdly, he’s as excited as the boys, his true Christmas spirit shining through. It’s such a contrast to Keith—
Nope. I told myself to stop comparing them, and I will.
It’s refreshing to see this burly man getting so into the holiday. I’d say it was for the boys’ sake, but even without witnessing him in another environment, it’s not. The man has two trees in his apartment. It’s for him.
Once it’s up there, he stands back to admire his handiwork. “As suspected, it looks great against this wall. Brilliant choice.”
This time, I take a bow at his compliment. “Why, thank you. I kinda know what I’m doing.”
“I’ll say.” His words aren’t loud or flashy, but there’s something in them that lights me up. Coming from him, they’re important.
“Okay, let’s get the ornaments on.”
It’s all the boys need to hear to rush over to the boxes and start digging through to find the first one they’re going to hang. I warned them earlier to be gentle with all of them and not to rush, but another reminder won’t hurt.
“Remember to be careful with all of them, and there’s no rush. What doesn’t get done tonight can be finished tomorrow.”
“Nope, not an option,” Dax says, striding toward the boxes on the couch, stopping short of reaching in. He spins around, a sheepish expression on his face. “Oops. Got a little carried away.” He’s about to step away from the contraband, but I don’t let him.
“You’re here to help, so help.”
“Yeah, Dax. We want this completed tonight, so get working.” Atlas issues his demand with so much consideration and concern, my heart melts. Not only for my son, but for the way he’s including Dax in this, not caring he’s not a part of our family.
“Well, if you say so.”
Giddy, Dax joins in, hanging ornaments on my tree like nobody’s business.
He lifts Jace so he can put some of his higher.
He laughs with Atlas about a funny one. He hums and sings along to the Christmas music playing in the background like it’s an ordinary task.
I’m so enthralled with his procedure, I’ve barely hung any.
“Where are the ones we bought yesterday?” He glances around the room covered in boxes and tissue paper.
“We decided to hang those last. To make sure they get the most prominent spot.”
“So they don’t get lost,” Atlas adds, warming up to the idea more.
When I mentioned it earlier, he wasn’t quite on board, wanting to get those on the tree first because of their importance. I convinced him by hanging them last, they’d have less chance of getting put in a spot we couldn’t easily see them.
“So smart.” Dax looks at me when he says it, and my ego bursts. His opinion is everything to me, no matter what my conscious thoughts lead me to believe.
“Thanks. Thought you’d like it.”
He seems like he wants to say more, but his lips remain parted in a smile.
I retrieve the bag from the store, carefully taking out the goods. The cashier wrapped all of them individually, so I unwrap them one at a time.
First is Jace’s. “I know the perfect spot.” He takes the ornament from me carefully and rushes to stand in front of Dax. “Little help here, Dax,” he spews, sounding so much like Atlas, it elicits a laugh, one deep from the depths of my abdomen. Too busy laughing, I can’t reprimand him.
Dax laughs too, but picks him by his waist, lifting Jace so he can reach the spot he’s chosen. I wish I had the forethought to take a picture because this is what memories are made of.
“Wait. Don’t put him down yet, Dax. Mama needs a picture.
” I’m shocked by Atlas’s words, how he read my mind, until he adds, “It’s tradition.
At least one photo of everyone putting on an ornament.
Where’s your phone, Mama?” He turns to me.
I’m so stunned, I can only point near where I left it.
When I don’t think he’s paying attention, he does something like this to prove me wrong.
He returns to the living room, my phone in hand, passing it over.
He’s already opened up the camera app, and I steady my shaking fingers enough to get the shot.
I can’t tell which part of the image is my favorite: their matching smiles or the way Dax so carefully holds onto my son, nothing “friendly” about it.
I will the tears forming not to fall. Not here, not now. Tonight, after the boys go to bed, if I still feel the urge, I’ll let them go. As I’ve done many times before.
But not now.
I unwrap the next one, handing it to Atlas. He searches for the best spot and angles himself toward my camera without prompting, his smile cheesy and wide.
Reaching into the bag, I pull out two more. Confused, I hold them both up. “I thought we each only got one?”
“The extra one’s for you,” Dax supplies, his cheeks the faintest pink, giving away whatever secret he’s kept since yesterday.
“Oh.” I choose one of the two, unwrapping it to reveal the one I picked out.
“Open the other one, then put them both on the tree,” Dax suggests.
Only because I’m so curious to learn what he picked out do I listen.
With nimble fingers, I tear back the paper, finding what looks to be the back of some sort of red shirt.
I turn it over and glimpse a sweater. An ugly sweater, the words “Be naughty. Save Santa the trip” painted on.
I burst into another fit of laughter, knowing exactly how perfect his gift is, more so after tonight.
“Fitting, right?” Dax says, humor in his voice.
“Very. I love it. Thank you.”
His gaze locked with mine, he nods. It’s the briefest movement of his head, but it’s so Dax.
“What is it, Mama?” Jace wonders.
I hold it up. “It’s an ugly sweater. Sometimes people have parties to celebrate them where everyone wears the ugliest one they can find.”
“But why is it funny for Mama?” Atlas’s gaze travels between Dax and me, trying to understand the humor and meaning.
Dax nonchalantly shrugs. “Something to make your Mama smile and think of me.”
As if I could forget him.
“Oh.” Atlas’s disappointment with Dax’s answer rings out in the quiet room.
“You gotta put them on the tree, Mama,” Jace instructs. “Anywhere you want.”
“Okay.” I make a show of searching and searching for the best spot. I have to say, somehow all the ornaments are distributed evenly among the branches, with no clusters we usually have on the tree. I find the perfect spot for the lights one, but then turn to Dax.
“Could you hang this one right here?” I point to a spot in the front of the tree that’s too high to reach. When he swipes it from my hand, a jolt of electricity shoots through me, similar to before when I handed him the scissors.
At this point, I’m not questioning it.
I’d never be able to explain what this man is doing to me, even if I possessed Willa’s storytelling abilities.