Chapter 14 Clem
clem
It’s not until the weekend that I see Dax again.
But that doesn’t mean he hasn’t been far from my mind.
There’s something about him I can’t seem to shake, but in a good way.
Everything I knew about him—from Willa, brief previous experiences in the last year, Willa’s wedding where he was best man and I was maid of honor—he’s shown me a different side of him in the last week, a side I wouldn’t expect hides under the outer layers of how he carries himself with the rest of the world.
I almost can’t reconcile the two sides of his personality, and yet, I’m not sure I want to.
Since he’d already planned to go to the Santa meet and greet, I suggested Dax take the boys himself and I would go shopping, but he wasn’t having it. “This is too important for you to miss.” Until he said the words, it hadn’t occurred to me what I’d be missing out on.
I’ve taken the boys to meet Santa plenty of times in previous years, but something in his tone niggled my brain, and I couldn’t let it drop.
And then I realized why—Atlas. He’s been going through something this year regarding Santa, getting to the point where he’ll stop believing soon.
He’s questioning whether he’s real, and his hints about whether he’ll be able to find us this year haven’t quite sunk in.
Except for Dax. Of all people, Dax understands the importance for my son to talk with Santa, to assuage his worries there will be presents under the tree, things off his list.
I’ve been so bogged down with client work, I didn’t see it myself, which is super odd because that’s how I felt growing up.
Always asking for something and being disappointed about not getting it.
I didn’t want that life for my kids. Not because I want them to lose the magic of Santa—that’s a small part of it—but because I didn’t want them to lose the magic of Christmas.
Ironic it’s Dax keeping it alive for them this year.
If I let it, I’d be crying from the guilt, the letting them down, the joy of the holiday evaporating because their parents didn’t come through. For as many years as Willa and I were disappointed on Christmas morning, Mom never showed any guilt. And she wasn’t good at hiding her emotions.
So, yeah. Dax was not letting me miss this.
At first, I thought maybe he wasn’t comfortable taking them on his own and was adamant I come. But when he added the “too important for me to miss,” I understood.
Not on his watch was I going to add more guilt to my plate. I could have kissed him when his text came through. It’s been good I haven’t seen him because I’m not sure I could have kept my mouth to myself.
I’m a little worried for what happens today, if I’ll be able to be on my best behavior and keep all my body parts to myself.
“Are you sure Dax said he’s picking us up?
‘Cause it’s getting late and I don’t want to miss out on meeting Santa.
Maybe we should drive ourselves, just in case.
” Atlas has been pacing the small confines of the living room for the last half hour.
I get his worry, the concern, the anxiousness, and fear of missing out on something you want.
I wish he’d stop asking, stop making me so anxious.
“He’ll be here, Attie. He hasn’t let you down yet.”
My comment halts his pacing, and he spins his body in my direction. “What if today is the day he does? There’s a first time for everything. Isn’t that what you say?”
Of course, he’s right. Words I’ve no doubt said to him in the past about his father. I hate how he’s lumping Dax into the same category.
“That’s true, but let’s give him the benefit of the doubt. He said he’ll be here at ten. It’s not quite ten yet.”
“If he’s not here by ten-oh-one, we’re taking our car.”
“Who’s the parent?” I remind him.
He huffs and resumes his walking, muttering words under his breath. He’s so much like me at that age, it’s scary. Though our life experiences vary vastly, and he has a lot of his father in him, too. If he uses it for good, he’ll go far. I cringe thinking about him using it for evil.
“Mama, come see my picture.” Unlike his brother, Jace occupies his time by drawing.
I glance over his shoulder, amazed at the details in his picture of downtown Main Street lit up by Christmas lights. It’s his own design, and the details are there. He even labeled some shops—with incorrect spelling—but it’s easy to see it’s Main Street, Winterberry.
“This is amazing, Jacey. I love the candy canes on the streetlights. Nice touch.”
He sits up straighter in his chair, his little ego feeding off my praise. “Thanks. It was hard to keep the red inside the lines ‘cause they’re so small.” Rather than criticizing his work, he’s more explaining his process.
I love listening to the way his brain works, similar yet different from mine.
He’s more technical with his process, where I’ve always created from the heart, getting the big ideas on paper, and layering in the smaller details at the end.
He starts with the small details and works his way out to the bigger ones.
“You made it work so well. We should put it up on the fridge.”
He shakes his head. “It’s for Mrs. Nicholas’s fridge. She showed me an empty spot for where it’ll go.” I’m so taken aback by his comment, my facial display doesn’t convey my emotions correctly. Jace pats my hand. “I’ll make another one for our fridge. Don’t be sad.”
I can’t blame him for misreading my expression. One, he’s five. Two, there are too many emotions to distinguish.
“Perfect. Thank you.”
“Of course, Mama.” His smile fades just slightly. “It might be a little different. I’m not sure I can do it the same.”
“That’s what makes each piece special.”
“Yep.”
I muss his hair and leave a kiss on the top of his head. “Don’t forget to sign your work.”
He snaps his fingers. “Oh, right.” He picks up the black marker and leans his head over the drawing, just far enough so I can see his tongue peeking out of the corner of his mouth as he concentrates on his name. When he’s finished, he admires his work with a satisfied smile. “There. All done.”
“He’s here. He’s here. It’s time to go,” Atlas shouts, his voice way too loud for our small house.
“Relax, Atlas. You won’t miss anything.”
He throws open the front door, practically salivating at the mouth, waiting for Dax to get out of his truck and walk up the front walkway.
From our front window, I watch him lumber from the truck, his winter coat zipped tightly over his torso and an elf hat haphazardly sitting on his head.
It should be ridiculous, yet Dax pulls it off.
Dare I say well? I cover my laugh with my hand, but it dies when he produces a bag and a tray of four cups—two large, two small—from the local coffee shop in town.
My mouth waters anticipating what’s in the cup.
It’s not in the budget to indulge often, so when the opportunity arises, I always savor the flavors, not knowing when I’ll get the chance again. Twice in one week is a treat.
“Hi, Dax,” Atlas calls out from the doorway with a wave.
“Morning. I brought snacks and hot chocolate.”
“But don’t we have to get going to see Santa? We can’t miss him.”
I leave my perch at the window and join Atlas at the door. “Atlas,” I admonish so only he can hear. “How about being grateful for Dax’s kind gesture?”
He peers up at me, myriad emotions swirling on his expression. “But Mama.”
“No buts, mister. I promise you will not miss Santa, but please have some patience.”
He narrows his eyes. Have I kept every promise to the kid?
Absolutely not, and he’s leery of that. He won’t understand my trying to explain how I know Dax won’t let him down.
I’m not sure why I’m so certain. Though he hasn’t shown that side of himself to us, he’s not perfect, and I can’t be thinking he is.
He’s human. Eventually, his armor will crack, and we’ll be let down.
But today isn’t that day. I can attest with one thousand percent certainty, today isn’t the day Dax becomes fallible.
I place my hands on his shoulders, a tactic I’ve used since he was an anxious baby. He doesn’t immediately settle, but some of the tension melts away.
He releases a sigh, his body sagging with the motion. “Okay, Mama. I just don’t want to miss Santa.”
“I get your excitement. Heck, I don’t want to miss Santa either. I’ve got something on my list to ask for.”
“Oh, yeah. What’s that?”
I don’t realize Dax has joined us on the porch until his voice bellows. Glancing at him, a twinkle shines in his eye. It’s not the least bit unsexy, and if I had to describe it, I’d say it’s on the naughty side.
Why do I feel this man has the potential to be my undoing?
More so, why would I let him?
I stare at the handsomeness of Dax Nicholas—his sparkling eyes, his crooked smile, the nearly perfect teeth. Did he ask me a question? And if so, what was it?
I shake out of the stupor, ignoring whatever he said, hoping he’ll let me get away with not responding since I’ve got no clue what I’d be responding to. “Come in.”
Dax looks between the two of us. “Don’t mind if I do.” He steps inside, handing the tray of drinks and the bag to me, wipes his boots on the mat, and then toes out of them.
He’s never once asked if he should remove his boots, but I appreciate the fact I didn’t have to ask.
That he takes the hint we don’t wear shoes in the house.
Less mess to clean up, when I get around to cleaning.
He doesn’t seem put off by taking them off or having to put them back on when we leave shortly for our outing.
“I went out on a limb for your coffee.”
“Did you now?”
“If you hate it, I’m sorry. But when you love it, I’m not.” His teasing tone unleashes more emotions inside me, ones I’m trying to keep contained, clearly not doing a good job at all.
I cock my head. “How do you know I’ll love it?”
“Because it’s delicious.”
“Says you.” I’m all too aware of the boys watching this interaction. Though it’s not inappropriate, it’s not something they need to see. I turn from Dax, heading to the table. “What’s in the bag?”
“Donuts. I was too late to get any of the special holiday ones, so they’re all glazed. Hopefully, you’ll give me a chance to amend my mistake another day.”
Atlas asks, “What kind of holiday donuts?”
“There are a few different kinds, but the one decorated like Santa Claus is my favorite. But they only make a limited daily selection, and they sell out quickly. I wanted to get there earlier, but I slept through my alarm. The good thing is we have plenty of weeks left in the season, so I’ll plan better for next time. ”
Jace joins the conversation, his gaze homed in on Dax’s head. “I love your hat.”
Dax feels for it, like he forgot he’s wearing it. “Thanks. I have an entire collection of different hats. Remind me to show you the next time you’re at my house.”
The man is killing me with the next time.
It’s up to me not to let it.