Chapter 13 Dax
dax
I offer to clean up the kitchen while Clementine does the bedtime routine. When I’m finished and she’s still in the boys’ room, I admire the tree, surveying the different ornaments.
I believe ornaments chronicle a story about the family.
This one is a mishmash of the past and present history of Clementine and the boys.
Three first Christmas ornaments, a collection of different trains, many art-related ones, and my favorite: a picture of a young Clementine on a shellacked present.
She’s probably Jace’s age. Her red hair’s much shorter, and she’s missing her two front teeth.
She’s adorable in a red and green plaid jumper.
“How did that one get on the tree?” she wonders from next to me. So engrossed in the tree, I didn’t hear her enter the living room.
“You were a cutie.”
“Was a cutie?” she chirps. “Am I not still cute?”
Any other woman, I’d think her question was a trap. But the stakes with Clementine are low, prompting me to say, “You are. Wasn’t sure how you’d take me referring to you that way.”
“I’d take it as a compliment. Your words are sincere. There’s no pretense. I like that about you.” She knocks her hip into me. The action is so jarring, I almost topple over. Not that she’s so strong, but because I’m not expecting it.
“Thanks. What about me? Can you say the same?”
She takes a step back and crosses her arms over her chest. Her gaze zips up and down my body, scrutinizing what she’s seeing.
“You are handsome. Not classically handsome like Cary Grant, but ruggedly so. Your face is nearly symmetrical, and the chiseled jawline is exquisite. Your cheekbones are very prominent in a good way. All of it adds up to your attraction.”
I wasn’t expecting such a detailed answer, but I keep forgetting she’s an artist and sees the world differently than most.
Which reminds me of the real reason I’m here.
I rub my hands together. “Ugly sweater time. I assume you’re prepared to show me your ideas?”
Clementine rolls her eyes, the action adding to her cuteness factor.
“Duh. I made some rough sketches, but if you like any of them, I’ll firm them up, show you what you’d be working with.
” She takes off for her bedroom, reappearing a moment later with a sketch pad.
“If you hate them all, I can try again if you’ll let me.
Or not. I won’t be offended. Your tastes might not line up with mine, but I hope there’s something you can work with.
” She sets the book on the kitchen table and invites me to sit next to her.
From this vantage point up close, I can’t miss the layer of freckles spread across her nose and cheeks.
“You told me I had nothing to worry about. Now it sounds like you’re taking that back.”
“That was my disclaimer in case we need it. I doubt we will.” She flips to the first page.
There’s a sketch of a reindeer with holiday lights in the antlers, the words “Happy Holidays” in script toward the bottom.
There’s no color, but the details in her “rough sketch” are astounding.
She pushes the book my way. “Feel free to look through and choose something. I can combine ideas as needed. Whatever works. You let me know.”
“And if I see something I like, how will we bring it to fruition?”
“I’ll either piece it together with different materials, or I can sew it on. Depends on what you choose.”
Her confidence is downright sexy. Which is something I shouldn’t be thinking about my brother’s sister-in-law, but can you blame me? She’s fired up, alight with possibilities.
I take my time flipping through the book. There are approximately a dozen unique designs, sketches in various stages of completion, all done for my benefit.
“When did you have time to do all of these?”
“When I can’t sleep, I sketch. It helps calm my mind.
This is probably a few hours’ worth of work, but once I got going, the ideas didn’t stop.
That’s why some are more detailed than others.
” She flips to one with two Christmas trees with arms in a position that makes them seem like they’re dancing.
“This one made me laugh, and I had trees on my mind, so I went a little overboard.”
“It’s cute.”
“Agreed. It wouldn’t make a good ugly sweater, but it’s adorable.” She flips to another page with a half-sketch of some sort of snow monster. “This one, not so much. I had the idea, but then it wasn’t turning out the way I wanted, so I gave up. It wasn’t meant to be.”
“Which one is your favorite?” I ask, needing the answer like I need my next breath.
“If I tell you, my opinion will influence you, and I need you to make an informed decision on your own. It’s your sweater.”
She’s not wrong, and I can choose one and then find out her favorite.
I scan the images again, debating which one would be the best choice.
Because she’s also not wrong that I couldn’t find something that would work.
Way better than spending hours scouring the internet for something I might like.
With her help, I’ll have something I love and a contender for the winner.
I stop on a page that’s pretty atrocious. With green garland on the sleeves, a fabric Christmas tree with ornaments, and other holiday adornments, it’s a guaranteed winner. “This one.”
By her grin, I know I’ve chosen her favorite. “Good choice. I hoped you’d choose that one. It’s my favorite.”
Damn, am I good.
“Okay, so tell me how you’d make it work.”
For twenty minutes, I let her regale me with how she’d bring the sketch to life.
She’s passionate as she speaks, the subject lighting her up and bringing out her love for the craft.
She adds a few more drawings to the page around the edges, options she could do if I wanted. I’m amazed at her talent.
At how her quick lines become a Christmas light.
At how she barely looks at the page as her hand doodles.
At how the image in her head is depicted on the page.
Beck has some artistic skills, and I’ve been forever jealous, but it’s nothing compared to what Clementine can do. Her drawings make his look like a child drew them.
“You’re so talented, but I don’t have to tell you that.”
Her brows draw together, the green in her eyes sparkling. “Why isn’t it something you should tell me?”
“Because you know how talented you are.”
“It’s always nice to hear.” Her voice drops as the words fall from her mouth, giving the sense that people in the past have neglected to confirm it, even if she knows.
So I repeat it. “You’re wicked talented.”
One brow raises to her hairline. “Wicked, huh? Where’d you pick up that one?”
“Dated a girl from Massachusetts. I swear she used it every other sentence. I save it for special occasions. Like now. To tell you how skilled you are. How I have complete faith in you bringing this vision to life. Tell me what supplies you need me to get and when you need them by.”
“It would be too hard to explain everything I need. Just give me your credit card.” She gasps and covers her mouth with both hands and mumbles something along the lines of, “Didn’t mean that.”
Wrapping my hands around her wrists, I lower hers. “What was that? Couldn’t quite understand your gibberish.”
She exhales, her shoulders slumping with the action. “I’m sorry. I did not mean to say that. Don’t give me your credit card. I’ll save the receipts, and you can pay me back.”
I wouldn’t ever let her spend her money on something she’s making for me. Heck, I should probably throw in a commission fee for her time and work.
While I don’t think she’s rolling in dough—based on some of her off-handed comments—she has to do okay for herself. How else would she have been able to uproot her life and move to Vermont? Unless she has support from Willa, her parents, or her ex. I suppose all three are possible.
I reach into my back pocket and pull out my wallet, taking out the card I don’t use much. “Here. Take my card. Charge whatever supplies you need.”
She pushes my hand away. “No. What if I buy something and don’t end up using it?”
“Would it be returnable?”
“Depends what it is.”
“Whatever.” I shove the card into her hand.
“Take it. If we have to return some stuff, that’s fine.
If you buy stuff and it can’t be returned, think of it as a gift.
For you or Jace. I bet he’d like some new art supplies.
” Her mouth opens, but no rebuttal to my comment emerges.
I glance at the clock and notice it’s late.
She’s probably up early in the morning with the boys. “I should get going.”
“Shit. It’s after ten. How did that happen?”
“Couldn’t tell you.” I stand up, stretching my arms above my head since we’ve been sitting in the same spot for quite a while. Clementine’s vision falls to where my shirt rides up, showing off bare skin. When her tongue peeks out of her mouth, I wonder what she’d do if I removed off.
But I’m not that guy.
I’m happy to do things for the boys—and her—but I won’t push it beyond there. We must keep our relationship in the friend zone. I have nothing else to offer her.
As much as I wish I did.
“I’ll have to Google where the closest craft store selling what I need is. Depending on where it is, I might need to wait until the weekend to get there. I’d rather go by myself to make sure I can get what I need. And I need a day or two to figure out exactly what that is.”
“I’m happy to watch the boys again. I can come here, or they can come to my apartment.” I consider what that means and think better of it. “I’ll come here. Tell me when to be here. I’ll bring breakfast or lunch depending on the time of day.”
Her head shakes before I finish speaking.
“That’s not necessary. The food part. I’m taking you up on the free babysitting.
I’ll provide the food. You provide the adult supervision.
” She smacks her forehead. “Free in exchange for me doing your sweater. I’m not a freeloader and won’t take advantage of you. ”
She’s rambling again, and the only way I can think to make it stop is to put a finger over her mouth. It does the trick. She stops talking mid-sentence, her eyes nearly bugging out of her head with the action.
Do I remove my finger? Nope.
Should I? Definitely.
Yet, neither of us makes a move. Not her to pull out of reach. Not me to move my finger away. We’re caught in a stare-down. Except it’s not quite like ones I’ve experienced in the past so much as I’m enjoying it, wondering how long it will take her to make a move if I don’t.
“What are you doing?” she finally murmurs, her lips tickling my finger as she speaks.
“Honestly, not sure. This is unfamiliar territory for me.”
“Yeah, same.”
“I should go.”
She giggles, and the way her head moves with the action, she wiggles out of reach. “You said that.”
“Are the boys early risers?”
“Jace is up by six, Atlas I usually have to wake by seven.”
“What about you? What time do you wake up?”
“Six, when Jace climbs into bed with me to snuggle.”
Okay, but how cute is that?
“Ah, that’s adorable.”
“Not every morning.” She sighs. “It’s so ingrained in him, I don’t know how he’d react if I told him no.
And even if I did, he’d be awake, either watching TV or wreaking havoc, no doubt.
Less damage than what Atlas would do for sure, but it wouldn’t be like I’d get more sleep.
I’d be lying in bed, my mind concocting all the things he’d be getting into, and I wouldn’t get any more rest.”
“You ramble a lot.”
She flushes red, and I hate I’m the direct cause. “Yeah, I do. Sorry.”
“No, don’t be. I didn’t mean it negatively. It’s part of your charm. If I’m allowed to admire your charm.” Here I go again—putting my foot in my mouth, saying things I definitely should not be saying to this woman. She’s overwhelmed with responsibilities. She doesn’t need my shit.
Her smile is small. “I certainly can’t stop you from your opinions and feelings.” She stops short of adding more, and I’m dying to know what else she might say. Something about reciprocating the feelings.
Wow, way to project my feelings onto her.
She yawns, and I take it as my cue to leave. Really be on my way.
“Text me when you want me to come over so you can shop. The only time I can’t do is Saturday morning because I have a planning meeting for the holiday breakfast.” I’m sure glad I glanced at my calendar before I came here to know I’m busy.
“That’s open to everyone? Do you have to sign up, or can we just show up?”
“We sell tickets, but you can pay at the door. It’s December twenty-third at the elementary school. It’s a fun time.”
“I need to add it to my calendar. The boys will love it.”
“They will for sure. Beck goes above and beyond with everything. I thought I’d hate being roped into it, but surprisingly, we’ve worked together well for the last three years. I’m not sure I could give it up now.”
“Your brother’s a great guy. Willa’s very fortunate. She deserves all the happiness in the world.”
“And you, Clementine. You too.”
She shrugs one shoulder. “We’ll see. I’ve got my boys, who are pretty great.” A wistfulness encroaches in her tone. I wish I had the power to say with certainty not to give up, but who am I to presume such things?
“Thanks again for dinner.”
“No, thank you, Dax. For the help with the tree and the ornament. It’s priceless.” Her smile is exactly why I picked it out for her.
“You’re welcome. Glad you like it.” Despite my inclination to stay, I can’t, so I force myself to leave. “Text me. See you soon.”
I slip my feet into my boots and am on my way, leaving her to her own devices, the way it should be.