Chapter 24 Clem
clem
I thought I could handle him in my space for dinner.
Clearly, I was completely mistaken.
He’s been here for ten minutes, and I’ve already put my foot in my mouth twice.
But when he goes and says something like that?
Gah.
This was a mistake. I’ll have to dig deep for inner strength to survive tonight.
“You can’t say things like that in the kitchen,” I say through gritted teeth. “Not with the boys around.”
Dax sighs. I glance up from my task of buttering the bread, and regret washes over his features. “I know. I promised myself I’d be on my best behavior. Hell of a lot of good it did.”
I can’t help but laugh at how he’s trying yet failing. I’m in the same boat, so I know where he’s coming from.
“We’re a pair, huh?”
“I’ll apologize for my behavior, but I can’t guarantee it won’t happen again.” So much sincerity permeates his tone. It’s not for lack of trying to be good. It’s the relationship we share. It’s hard to be around each other and keep our hands to ourselves and our clothes securely on our bodies.
Or maybe that’s just me.
“Long as the boys don’t think anything’s up. I’m not ready to explain.”
“Hearing you loud and clear, Clementine.”
Does he call me by my full name on purpose, or is it innocent? I truly can’t tell.
“Thanks.”
“Anytime. Anything I can do to help?”
“Nope, I’ve got it handled.” Then I remember the beer he brought. “Oh, I’ll take a beer, please. Just put it—”
“In a cup. Got it.”
It shouldn’t be such a huge deal, except it is. In the couple of times I’ve had a beer in his presence, he took notes. Nearly ten years with Keith and he seemed surprised every time I wouldn’t drink from the can or bottle. Until the end. Every. Single. Time.
It’s so unfair to compare Dax to Keith, like likening paint to clay.
Different mediums requiring unique skills and talents.
But I freaking can’t help it. Not when Dax is here, showing up, doing kind things for me and my boys, doling out orgasms like it’s his job, and offering a kind of friendship I longed for with my husband.
If so many factors were different, I’d let myself imagine a life with Dax. Just for a few minutes. But alas, in this reality, I don’t have that privilege.
He sets the glass next to my workspace, but far enough away I won’t knock it over. “Have you tried this one yet?”
“Nope, but I’ve learned to trust your tastes.”
With a chuckle, Dax digs his phone out of his pocket. “Can you say that again? I’ll need to record it to play back later.” It’s a nod to our conversation last night, and I find myself amused again. It doesn’t take much with Dax.
“Fat chance. How was your day?” He’s always so good about asking about mine, but I sometimes forget to return the gesture. But this is a wonderful distraction from what I want to ask.
While I prep the sandwiches, he tells me about the cars he fixed today. I couldn’t repeat back what he said. Too many words related to cars I should probably know, but I don’t. That’s what mechanics are for.
“Okay, the sandwiches are ready.”
The boys come to the table with their water bottles. I grab my beer from the counter, taking the first sip. It’s spicy, but the malt flavor is intense.
“What’s the verdict?” Dax asks, awaiting my opinion, invested like my answer holds the key to unlocking a mystery.
“I prefer Winter Warmer Holiday Ale.”
“Same. There’s something about that one not replicated anywhere else.” He looks at Atlas’s plate, his nose turning up at the cheese on toast cooked in the toaster. “Ace, what’s this?”
“Cheese on toast.”
“But why? Why would you want something so mundane when your mama made grilled cheese? Do you not like the gooeyness? The toasted butter? The cheese to bread ratio?”
I fold my lips to not let my amusement show. He’s selling this hard, but it’ll fall on deaf ears. Atlas isn’t about grilled cheese, no matter how many ways I make it “better.” His words, not mine. My grilled cheese rivals those at a restaurant.
Atlas shrugs, not comprehending how serious Dax is. “This is way better.”
Dax’s mouth opens, but nothing emerges because Atlas has stunned him silent. Instead, his head shakes from side to side in disbelief.
“Don’t waste your breath, Dax. Mama and me try every time, and he won’t eat grilled cheese.” Jace, my support system in the form of a five-year-old.
Dax’s attention turns to Jace. “So he doesn’t care that he’s missing out on the best culinary invention ever?”
“Guess not.” Jace digs into his sandwich and looks right at Atlas. “Delicious, Mama.” He gets a pass for talking with his mouth full of sandwich.
“Thanks, Jacey.” I take a bite of my sandwich, the cheese and bacon combining for a delectable masterpiece. How a few ingredients cooked in a skillet can be so delicious is beyond me.
“Exquisite, Clementine. Good call on the bacon. It elevates it to the next level.”
“The special bread, too,” Jace points out.
“Sourdough?” Dax guesses.
“Yeah. The local bakery makes a good one, better than anything store-bought.”
“Have you ever made your own?”
“We’re not talking about that.” I’m a decent cook, but a bread baker I am not. Couldn’t even keep the starter alive for three days, let alone attempt to make the dough.
“Have you had my mom’s sourdough?”
My gaze meets his. “Yep. It’s delicious. So light and airy but so flavorful. I was almost tempted to try mine again, but I wasn’t in the mood to fail.”
“Wait until you try the challah rolls on Christmas Eve Eve. Your taste buds won’t know what hit ‘em.”
Despite how good I’m sure they’ll be and Dax’s exuberance, I can’t tell him we may not be here to celebrate with his family.
Keith insists the boys be home for Christmas, and we’re slated to fly out that night.
I wouldn’t have taken him seriously and told him to fuck off, but my lawyer suggested it would show good faith on my part to give him this for the first year.
Considering the stunt I pulled last Christmas Eve and moving them to Winterberry Junction, it’s my last act of kindness toward the man before the marriage gets dissolved.
He’ll always be their father, but after the divorce is final, the custody arrangement will look different.
I’m prepared to give up every Thanksgiving and Easter to have them with me every Christmas.
I swallow the lump in my throat. “Looking forward to them.”
I haven’t yet told the boys we won’t be here for Christmas, though Willa and my parents know. Every time they FaceTime with my mom, she almost spills it, but she’s managed to keep it a secret. For how much longer, I’m not sure.
The rest of the meal continues with chatter about school, the upcoming holiday, what’s on their Christmas lists, and for Atlas, eyeing each of our sandwiches. He’s got the look of someone who wants to try a bite but is afraid to ask. Until he does, I won’t offer.
When we’re done, Dax forces me out of the kitchen while he and the boys clean up.
From my spot on the couch, I sneak a picture of the three of them working, all smiles.
It’s not something I should dwell on, but for this one moment in time, I’m allowing myself to consider the possibility of this as an everyday occurrence.
Maybe it’s not Dax, but another man who’s willing to help and spend time with my kids not because he has to, but because he wants to.
Is that too much to ask?
The many hints I give Dax to leave before I put the boys to bed fall on deaf ears. It’s not that I want him to leave. I don’t trust myself to be around him after they go to bed. I don’t have the willpower to deny any advances he’ll try to make.
If any at all.
Except by the furtive glances he tosses my way, he will. One of us has to stay strong.
I clap my hands. “Bath or shower?”
“Shower,” both boys echo.
“If you start the water, Mama, I’ll make sure Jace gets clean.”
I quirk a brow, wondering what his angle is. “His hair, too?”
“Yep. I got this.” He’s capable of it but usually gives me a hard time if I even imply he should help his brother.
“Jace, you good with that?”
“Okay.” Much as being easygoing will get him far in life, I fear people will take advantage of it.
With that settled, I try one more time to get Dax to leave, but the man outright refuses, wanting to see the progress I’ve made on his sweater. “When you’re done, of course,” he supplies, settling further into the couch. Like he belongs there.
And a strong part of me likes him there.
But no, Mama duty calls.
I turn on the water for the shower, making sure it’s adjusted to the right temperature for Atlas. He’s pickier than Jace.
It’s something I’ve only recently started doing. At Atlas’s insistence. Soon, he’ll be too big to take a shower with his brother, so I’m soaking it up while he’ll tolerate it.
“Call me when you’re done,” I instruct, leaving them to their own devices while I return to the living room.
“If you want me to leave, say the word and I’ll be on my way.” Despite all his protests earlier, Dax’s voice is sincere. If I asked him to, he’d go.
So why can’t I make my mouth form the words and tell him to leave?
“It’s not that I don’t want your company. I don’t trust myself around you.”
It’s not like Keith and I never had sex while the boys were sleeping.
Hell, a few times while they were awake.
But it seems different, inappropriate to consider having sex with Dax while they’re in the house.
They’re older, wiser. I don’t think I’d be truly able to relax, my ear always listening for them. It would completely ruin the mood.
“I almost didn’t come because it’s too hard to be around you and be on my best behavior,” he admits freely. The honesty in his voice infuses itself into me. “Though the alternative, not spending time with you and the boys, isn’t something I want to regard as a possibility.”
“So that leaves us where?” I’m afraid to sit down on the couch, even with cushions separating us. I’d most likely end up in his lap.
“In this weird limbo. Definitely uncharted territory for me.”
“Never been with a single mom?” I laugh, but it’s humorless.
He shakes his head. “Not what I meant.”
I know about his past lifestyle only from what Willa’s told me and the two women in town who made comments, none of which were high praise.
Dax hasn’t gone into detail about his dating history.
It’s so not my business who he’s slept with.
There’s a high probability he got some as recently as the day before we hooked up.
Hell, in between our hookups. I’m not here to judge him.
We didn’t put parameters on our casual, friends with benefits relationship.
Long as he’s keeping me safe, that’s all that matters.
Laughter saturates my brain, reminding me to keep one ear trained on the bathroom in case they need help. Which is why I miss when Dax stands in front of me.
“You make me want things I’ve never wanted in my life.”
His comment is so unexpected, I gasp. “Like what?”
“Dates. Stability. Commitment.”
“Me?” I hedge. He can’t possibly mean what he’s saying.
His finger trails down the edge of my jaw.
“You, Clementine. I want impossible things with you. Even though I shouldn’t.
I’m not built for more than what I’ve already given.
At least I didn’t think so.” His gaze drifts from mine, staring off at something on a far wall.
“Because a few months ago, I wouldn’t have said I was capable of feeling what I do for you. ”
“What are you saying?” I whisper, trying to make sense of his ramblings.
“Mama, we’re done.” Whatever Dax was going to say gets cut off at Atlas’s declaration.
I hightail it away without having the decency to tell him to hold whatever’s on his mind.