Chapter 15 Dax
dax
I can’t read Clementine today.
She seems off, but I can’t decipher what’s bothering her. I don’t think it’s me, but until I can get her alone—if I can get her alone—I won’t have a chance to make sure, to ask her what’s up.
“Mama, do you think I can get an elf hat like Dax’s?” Jace wonders.
“You can put it on your list.”
“Yeah, but I need it before Christmas, otherwise I can’t wear it till next year. And where’s the fun in that?” He throws his hands in the air, resigning his fate.
This is why I’m not a father. I’d be like, “Let’s go right now to the store and get you one.” But I know that’s not how parenting works. You can’t give in to their every whim. No one wants a spoiled brat on their hands.
“How about you make some, Mama? That would be fun for you.” Atlas’s suggestion is kind of genius, and if by the way Clementine’s eyes flicker, she agrees.
“Hmm. That I could probably do.” She glances at my hat, her eyes studying it, her brain working its magic. “Dax, mind if I take a picture of the hat?”
“I’ll do you one better and leave it here.”
“Um, yeah, okay. I’ll get it back to you the next time I see you.”
“No rush. I’ve got a bunch.” “A bunch” is an understatement, but they don’t need to know that. “Who wants a donut?”
Until the question is out of my mouth, it doesn’t occur to me to ask Clementine’s permission before offering her children the sugary snack.
I’m sure they’ve eaten breakfast, but that doesn’t mean she wants them eating crap and drinking hot chocolate.
Perhaps I should have confirmed it was okay to bring treats before I showed up with them.
I figured it would be a sweet treat, but now I’m second-guessing it and questioning how good I am at playing this “pseudo-uncle” thing.
I gesture her to the side, away from the boys’ listening ears. “Is it okay I brought donuts and hot chocolate?”
She seems confused by my question. “Sure, why not?”
“There’s a lot of sugar in both. Maybe you don’t want them starting their day hyped and wired on sugar.”
“That’s sweet of you to think, after the fact,” she teases.
Some of my worry fades away. “I don’t want them to start every day with sugar and chocolate, but some days it’s more than okay.
Besides, it’s hard to turn down a donut when someone goes out of his way to bring it.
” She winks, and I wish I could say I wasn’t affected by the action.
I swipe my hand across my brow like I’ve seen her do. “Phew. I’d hate to be on the receiving end of your wrath.”
“Pretty sure donuts and hot chocolate won’t ever land you there.” She puts her hand on my chest. I’m not sure why, but I don’t mind her touch.
“What will?”
Her eyes roll. “As if I’d tell you.”
“But if you don’t, how will I know how to stay away from it?”
Her eyes blink quickly as she contemplates my question. “Guess you’ll have to figure it out.” With the hand still on my chest, she taps three times. Like it’s not out of the ordinary for her to touch me. As if our relationship is at that stage of intimacy.
Guess that’s my permission to challenge her.
This could be fun.
“I’m gonna try that coffee now, k?”
“Yep.” I keep my answer short, lest she’s able to hear the sensations of what her touch does to me.
I let her break the contact.
She’s wearing skinny jeans today, the kind that mold to her skin but still have some give. I can’t decide whether her ass looks better in these or the leggings she wears most days. When she fits her hands in her pockets, my decision is solidified: these. Definitely these.
I join the three of them at the table where Clementine divvies out the donuts onto the plates one of the boys retrieved.
She sits and takes a sip of the coffee, her eyes fluttering closed as the flavors fill her mouth.
But what gets me the most is her moan. I tamp down the arousal trying to break free.
I’m not prepared to explain why I’m hard to her or her kids.
However, it would be easier to do if she kept the moans to a minimum.
After swallowing, her eyes open, locking on me. “Pray tell, Dax. What is this magical concoction of flavors tantalizing my taste buds?”
“A Merry Mintmas latte. Amazing, right?”
“I’m not sure ‘amazing’ is the right word, but since I don’t have Willa’s talent with words and my brain is a bit mushy from the taste, I’m rolling with it.”
“Is it magnifique?” Atlas provides. “That’s one of Aunt Willa’s fancy words.”
She points in his direction. “Closer than amazing.” Her eyes close again as she relishes the flavors. “Why is it so good?”
“They only serve it during December, so I’d suggest you get your fill over the next few weeks so you don’t have to wait an entire year to have it again.”
Her eyes fly open wide. “You’re right. I should go every day to make this last.” She shakes her head. “But no. That won’t be good for my budget or my waist. Nope. Gotta limit myself and savor each one I get.”
I’m not in the best financial position, but one morning coffee from Winterberry Brews is worth sacrificing for. But it’s just me I have to worry about. I don’t have to make sure my kids have everything they need and then use whatever’s left.
I add “grab Clementine coffee” to my mental list of tasks. Though I doubt if I showed up every day with coffee, she’d be as accepting as she was today. She’d appreciate it for sure, but she might not feel deserving of it.
Then I remember she has my credit card, and my note changes to “remind Clementine to treat herself to coffee on me.” I’ll have to figure out how to tell her without it sounding like she’s a charity case. I set my mind to work on that in the background as I go about my day.
Atlas is itching to get on the road to see Santa. He hasn’t said as much, but the way he can’t sit still and keeps scanning the time is a clue he’s antsy. So, after we finish our snacks, I suggest we be on our way.
“I’ll need my car seat from the van,” Jace declares, having decided we’re taking my truck.
“No need. I got one.”
I’d almost forgotten I found one to keep in my truck until he mentioned it.
Clementine’s lips fall open silently. “What do you mean you got one? Is it safe? Is it new? Is it used and expired?” Her voice pitches higher with each question as terror sets in. I have to set her mind at ease.
“A customer of mine was done with it. She bought it brand-new but only used it for a year. How long are they good for?”
She visibly relaxes, the tension melting away with my assurance. “A few years at least. That was very kind of you, Dax.”
I can’t help but smile at her complimenting my forethought.
It wasn’t something I sought, but when a customer at work mentioned not needing it anymore when her car was in the shop this week, I scooped it up.
She was happy she didn’t have to toss it into a landfill.
I’m happy because it put that smile on Clementine’s face.
“Sure thing. Saves you the trouble of reinstalling it so many times.”
“Do you mind if I double-check it’s secure in your truck?
Not that I don’t trust you. It would give me a little more peace of mind.
” There’s an air of embarrassment about her asking, which she shouldn’t have.
Her kid should be safe at all times, and she shouldn’t feel guilty for wanting the best for him.
“Figured you’d want to put it in yourself, so I didn’t bother.”
“Oh. Great. Thanks. That was thoughtful.”
Again with the compliments. I could get high on the praise from this woman. Maybe that’s why I can’t seem to help myself from doing kind things for her. The aphrodisiac of her thanking me is a high I’ve never experienced. Guess I know what to do to never let it end.
“Can we go now? Puh-lease. Haven’t I waited long enough?” Atlas stands at the door, his coat and hat on, his arms waving in the air with his exasperation.
With a devilish smile in my direction, Clementine says, “Your truck has gas, right?”
I pick up immediately on what she’s throwing down. If she’s starting this game, I’ll play along.
I snap my fingers. “I knew there was something else I had to do. We’ll stop on the way.”
“No,” Atlas complains. “We’ll take Mama’s.”
“Mine needs gas, too,” she says.
Atlas misses the teasing lilt. “No,” he whines. “This is taking forever. We’re going to miss him.”
“Santa’s there all day. You won’t miss him.” I walk over to Atlas and squat, so I’m more at his level. “My truck’s got gas. But if you need someone to blame, it was your mama’s idea.”
“Hey,” she quips. “Traitor.”
Atlas throws his hands in the air. “How about we stop all the tomfoolery and be on our way?” He looks between the two of us. “Can we do that? Please?”
“Since you asked so nicely, I think it’s time to depart.” He wants to smile, but he’s still untrusting of Clementine’s words. “Excellent use of tomfoolery. Aunt Willa would be proud.”
“You can text her later. After we’ve seen Santa.” He grabs Clementine’s wrist and pulls her out the door.
“Dax, make sure the door’s locked behind you, please,” she calls out as she’s willingly dragged along the walkway.
I double-check the lock. Satisfied we’re good to go, I pull it closed behind me. Jace waits for me on the porch and slips his hand into mine when I’m next to him.
“Are you excited to see Santa?”
“Yep. It’s going to be amazing. No.” His head shakes from side to side, but his smile enlarges. “Magnifique.”
“I think you’re right.”
Unlike most of the country, a “mall Santa” wouldn’t cut it in Winterberry Junction.
Instead, for one Sunday in December, an authentic Santa graces the gazebo in the town square—or in the case of bad weather, the elementary school—and all the children are invited to stop by to sit on his lap and discuss their lists of holiday goodies.