Page 38 of The Art of Being Merry
“They’re on the way to pay. I’ll get you set up with the best one they offer that won’t break the bank.”
With that settled, we trudge to the stands, and I shove the best choice on the bottom of the cart she pushes.
“Let’s check out before anything else jumps in our cart,” Clementine declares with a grin.
We head for the checkout, and I internally groan at the woman behind the counter. Seems Lillith Canterbury isn’t too thrilled to see me either. Probably because I haven’t returned her calls or texts.
“Dax Nicholas,” she spits. “Surprised to see you here so late in the season. Weren’t your trees decorated weeks ago?”
“Shopping with a friend.” As she loads up the items on the conveyor belt, I don’t miss the way Clementine’s sight volleysbetween the two of us, her smile from moments ago vanished. “First Winterberry Junction Christmas for these three.”
“How lovely of you to help,” Lillith deadpans, her narrowed eyes aiming daggers my way.
In my defense, I never led her on. Her one-sided crush developed on its own, and I’ve been polite in my limited—on purpose—interactions with her. Since high school, I’ve tried to let her down easily when she’s suggested meeting for coffee or lunch or anything else, but she refuses to take a hint. I don’t know what else I can do to let her know I’m not interested. Even using the words “I’m not interested” hasn’t gotten me anywhere.
She holds my stare for a few beats until Clementine clears her throat, though it’s Atlas who gripes, “This is taking forever.” I can’t be certain it’s on purpose, but I’m not complaining.
Unfortunately, there’s no line behind us, so I can’t use that as an excuse.
After another minute, Lillith jumps into action, hastily ringing out the items we’ve all picked out, her gaze not leaving mine.
“Let’s not go breaking things if we can help it,” I mutter under my breath, hopefully loud enough for Lillith to realize what she’s doing. She can take her anger out on me, but the kids don’t need to be witnesses.
Hell, Clementine either, for that matter.
Not that I have anything to worry about or explain since there’s nothing going on between us, but we don’t need a scene. If she’d do her job and let us be on our way, life would be dandy.
Especially since we need time to set up the tree.
At this rate, it’ll be the boys’ bedtime before we get the chance.
Thankfully, the owner of the store steps in, asking, “Everything all good here?” breaking Lillith out of her self-induced trance. She smiles at the owner and lessens the rash motions, ringing out Clementine’s order first before mine.
When all is said and done, Clementine’s bill for the entire day is probably higher than she imagined it would be, though that’s me guessing based on nothing but a hunch. At least everything but the tree is reusable.
Clementine doesn’t mention the interaction with Lillith, though she has no reason to.
As far as she’s concerned, I’m a friend helping her out.
Right about now, I might be the one who needs the reminder.
Back at their house, the boys and Clementine carry in the bags from the store, while I get the tree out of the truck. I rest it against the house on the porch so I can set up the stand first.
Inside her living room, they’re already making room for the tree. I can’t help but watch them work together, moving things and making sure there’s an empty path to the corner where the tree will go.
“Looks good.” I approve of their work with a head bob. “I’ll set up the stand and bring in the tree. Do you have a pair of scissors so I can cut the twine?”
Clementine stares at me, her green eyes wide, like I asked the most ridiculous question. “Did you ask me if I have scissors?”
Rather than taken aback by her shock, I nod. “Yep. They need to be strong enough to cut the twine.”
“Mama has all kinds of scissors,” Jace supplies. “She likes cutting different things.”
While I’m sure that’s true, I hope they’re not all artists’ scissors. Those will hardly do.
“Great,” I say, though no one is making a move. “Let me set up the stand while you retrieve the scissors.”
My statement breaks whatever spell Clementine’s under. Which is weird she’s so entranced by a discussion of scissors, but here we are.
