Chapter 20
clem
I won’t feel guilty for having time to myself.
I won’t feel guilty for doing something for me.
I won’t feel guilty for leaving my kids with their favorite babysitter while I do filthy things with her uncle.
I won’t feel guilty for any of it.
Convincing myself of this proves to be futile.
It’s been years since I’ve been in a situation where I can put myself first, if even for a few hours.
It’s weird to have Shania at the house under false pretenses.
Even though my kids love spending time with her, she’s a great babysitter and enjoys their company, too.
She’s getting compensated, I’ve left a hot meal, and everyone is happy.
It feels wrong to leave my children to meet Dax for sex. Sure, we’re also going shopping, but I’ve got plenty of time during the school week to fit that in. Hell, I could bring them with me. Long as Atlas has his Switch with him, Jace will be all too happy to shop for supplies.
“Okay, I’m off. I’ll be back by eight-thirty. You’re sure that’s not too late?” I check in with Shania. They’re playing a card game, but she greets me with a smile.
“Not too late, I promise. Have fun wherever you’re going.”
For a minute, I think she knows, but there’s no way she could. When I texted her to ask if she was free, I didn’t tell her where I was going. The fewer people who know my whereabouts, the better.
“Thanks. I will.” I bite back the smirk trying to emerge. “Bye, boys.”
Atlas looks at me and waves, but Jace rushes over to hug me. “Bye, Mama. Have fun. Don’t be gone too long.”
Nope, can’t let the guilt of this eat at me. He’s safe and protected, and I deserve time apart from my kids. It’s not hurting anyone. I repeat these words as I hug him back and say, “I’ll be back in time to tuck you into bed.”
“Great.” With a last embrace, he scampers back to the game, not giving a backward glance, and with a clear conscience, I slip on my boots and exit the house.
It’s not that I’ve never left them before. I’ve never left them for this reason. I don’t want them ever to think I could be like Keith—sneaking around with someone else. Sure, the reasons might be drastically different, but the “sneaking” part fits.
Something I’m not letting deter me from the fun of this night, either.
Instead, I’m going to pack down any emotions I have regarding how right or wrong this is and enjoy the hell out of myself tonight.
When I put it like that, I can’t get to Dax’s house soon enough.
He’s waiting for me in the driveway when I pull up, his keys dangling from his fingers, and directs me to the side of the house. I’m taking a chance leaving my car here, but I suppose it’s not too odd we’re running an errand to the craft store.
When I’m out of my car, I halt in front of him. “I told Shania I’d be back by eight-thirty at the latest.”
“Do you have your list of supplies?”
“Yep.”
“Then let’s get going. Mind if we grab something on the way back for dinner? We’ll save time by eating it at my place rather than eating out.”
“I didn’t account for dinner,” I hedge, though I can’t explain why. Am I upset he’s suggesting we eat dinner together? Nope.
Am I disappointed he would have taken me out to dinner if we had more time? Yep.
It’s been so long since I’ve eaten out at a restaurant with a man. Even on our anniversary, we didn’t make an effort to go out. Mom and Dad would surely have kept the kids, but Keith never wanted to. One more red flag I completely ignored about my ex-husband.
Dax’s brow furrows. “Did you already eat?”
“No. I made mac and cheese for the kids, but I hadn’t considered myself.
” And this is exactly why I can’t feel any ounce of guilt.
I never put myself first. I deserve someone who’s going to allow me to make myself a priority.
Even as friends with benefits, Dax is doing that, and I’m going to relish it.
“You were just going to skip dinner?” The idea is preposterous to him.
I shrug, laying my truths out. “Figured I’d eat when I got home after the kids were in bed.”
Dax’s head shakes before I finish speaking. “No, not happening on my watch. Start thinking about what you want now so that when I ask what you want on the way home, we don’t waste precious time deciding on what to order.”
“Is Cobble Glen Tavern on the way? Willa raves about it, but I haven’t tried it yet.”
“We’ll make it on the way.” His feet carry him to his truck, and I follow along, climbing into the passenger seat. It’s only been a few times, but it’s already becoming familiar. “How was your day?”
“Productive. I’m trying to finish up everything this week and next so I don’t have to work the week of Christmas and into the new year. I’ve already shut down new orders until the first week of January.”
“What’s your job? I gather you work from home.”
“Yeah, I own an Etsy shop offering a variety of hand-painted items, and I have commissioned paintings from a gallery in North Carolina. Every three months, I go back and drop them off to the buyers. I’m hoping to find a gallery local to Winterberry Junction, but no luck so far.”
“What type of painting do you do?”
“I dabble in a little bit of everything. If it can be painted, I’ll try anything once. Lately, I’ve had a lot of custom orders for book edges. It’s time-consuming, but people will pay big bucks for hand-painted edges, so it’s working out.”
“That’s amazing. I want to see your work sometime.”
“Yeah, sure.” I glance over at Dax with a smile, though he can’t see it because his attention is on the road.
I’m not someone who hides her work. If people are interested, I’m happy to share it with them.
Not to sound overly cocky, but I know I’m talented.
I gave up questioning it years ago when huge checks hit my bank account.
Some people will pay top dollar for crap, but that’s not the case in my situation.
“Where’s your studio or workspace?”
“In the basement. It’s finished, so the boys have one side and the other side is my studio. It’s open and ventilated, perfect for my work.”
“Does the basement need work like parts of the upstairs?”
“Nope, it’s in decent shape. I don’t think it was used much by the previous tenants, so once I thoroughly cleaned it, it was good to go.
I’m surprised the boys didn’t force you down there.
It’s a palooza of Legos.” Shelves and shelves of built sets, a table where some are in progress, and bins of assorted shapes and sizes for when they want to build something without a set.
“They seemed more concerned with Minecraft. Didn’t even mention the Legos.”
“Atlas goes through phases with them, and Jace seems to follow along. He’s my tinker and creative one, whereas Atlas would play video games twenty-four/seven if I let him, though he loves reading, too.”
Our conversation continues on the way to the craft store, Dax telling me about growing up with three siblings and more about Winterberry, and me not talking about my horrible marriage.
I keep the conversation to growing up with a twin and the boys.
He doesn’t push the topic, which I appreciate.
I’m sure he’s burning to know more about my history with my ex, but he’s respectful.
“So what’s this story about why you needed to come to the craft store?” I ask when there’s a lull in the conversation. It’s been burning a hole in me since he mentioned it yesterday on the phone.
“You know the holiday breakfast on the twenty-third?”
“Yep.”
“There’s a decorating committee”—he points to himself—“and since I was late to work yesterday, I might have told the other member of the committee I was placing an order for the decorations. At the craft store.”
I swear his cheeks tinge pink as he regales me with the story.
“Ah, so now you have to place an order for decorations?”
“Something like that. I’m kinda hoping inspiration strikes if I walk around long enough.”
“Is there a theme?”
“The North Pole.”
“Okay, so toys, elves, big candy cane poles, maybe an igloo, Santa’s house and workshop for sure, and—”
“Wait.” Dax cuts me off. Probably for the best since I’ll keep rambling as more ideas pour into my head. “Jot down your ideas. Please,” he tacks on. “How do you come up with them on the spot like that?”
“No clue. It’s the way my mind’s always worked. You say ‘North Pole,’ my brain conjures up images.” I take out my phone, typing out my ideas, adding a few more I didn’t get to say aloud when he rudely interrupted me.
“You’re hired. Since the breakfast’s in less than two weeks, you won’t even have to come to many meetings.” He sits up straighter in his seat, his hands tapping the steering wheel. “Could you paint backdrops? Or like cardboard cutouts? Are those in your wheelhouse?”
“Sure.” My mind forgets I still have actual work projects to complete and create his ugly sweater, but why can’t I say no to him?
His smile grows ten sizes, and having that effect on him is the reason I can’t say no. What’s a few hours of missed sleep in the next few weeks when it makes him this happy?
“Sweet. Let’s look for supplies while we’re here. I just have to run it by Becks. For the last few years, he’s farmed out the decorations to other people. Your ideas will enhance what’s probably been decided on, but I don’t want to step on anyone’s toes.”
It’s admirable how he’s respectful to everyone.
Nope, gotta keep him squarely in the friend zone. Even if it’s friends with benefits, the “friend” moniker needs to be fully in place.
“On an unrelated but related subject, I’m excited to see the parade in action. It helped break Willa’s abhorrence of the holiday. Well, that and your brother.”
“Using the fancy words again.” His chuckle reverberates around the cab.
“Here, it’s necessary.”
When we arrive at the store, he waits for me at the front of the truck to walk next to me. Once inside, he grabs a cart, prepared to push it around the store. I’m so stunned, my feet root to the floor.
He’s a few feet ahead of me, but turns around when he realizes I’m no longer next to him. As he walks back, his expression morphs to concern. “What’s wrong?”
“You’re going to push the cart?”
“Am I not allowed to push the cart or something? I figured you’ll be picking out most things, so I’ll push while you shop.”
“Oh, yeah. That’s smart. It’s just, no one ever offers to do that for me.
I didn’t know it was something men did.” I slap my hand on my forehead.
Way to go stereotyping him with his entire gender.
He’s proven frequently he’s unlike most men I’ve met in my life, so why this is so shocking is beyond me.
Dax narrows his eyes in my direction as he steps closer. “I’m not most men, Clementine. Please be sure to remember that.”
Damn him for getting too close and using a growly voice.
How am I ever going to keep him friend zoned when he does stuff like this?