Page 45 of The Art of Being Merry
She pushes my hand away. “No. What if I buy something and don’t end up using it?”
“Would it be returnable?”
“Depends what it is.”
“Whatever.” I shove the card into her hand. “Take it. If we have to return some stuff, that’s fine. If you buy stuff and it can’t be returned, think of it as a gift. For you or Jace. I bet he’d like some new art supplies.” Her mouth opens, but no rebuttal to my comment emerges. I glance at the clock and notice it’s late. She’s probably up early in the morning with the boys. “I should get going.”
“Shit. It’s after ten. How did that happen?”
“Couldn’t tell you.” I stand up, stretching my arms above my head since we’ve been sitting in the same spot for quite a while. Clementine’s vision falls to where my shirt rides up, showing off bare skin. When her tongue peeks out of her mouth, I wonder what she’d do if I removed off.
But I’m not that guy.
I’m happy to do things for the boys—and her—but I won’t push it beyond there. We must keep our relationship in the friend zone. I have nothing else to offer her.
As much as I wish I did.
“I’ll have to Google where the closest craft store selling what I need is. Depending on where it is, I might need to wait until the weekend to get there. I’d rather go by myself to make sure I can get what I need. And I need a day or two to figure out exactly what that is.”
“I’m happy to watch the boys again. I can come here, or they can come to my apartment.” I consider what that means and think better of it. “I’ll come here. Tell me when to be here. I’ll bring breakfast or lunch depending on the time of day.”
Her head shakes before I finish speaking. “That’s not necessary. The food part. I’m taking you up on the free babysitting. I’ll provide the food. You provide the adult supervision.” She smacksher forehead. “Free in exchange for me doing your sweater. I’m not a freeloader and won’t take advantage of you.”
She’s rambling again, and the only way I can think to make it stop is to put a finger over her mouth. It does the trick. She stops talking mid-sentence, her eyes nearly bugging out of her head with the action.
Do I remove my finger? Nope.
Should I? Definitely.
Yet, neither of us makes a move. Not her to pull out of reach. Not me to move my finger away. We’re caught in a stare-down. Except it’s not quite like ones I’ve experienced in the past so much as I’m enjoying it, wondering how long it will take her to make a move if I don’t.
“What are you doing?” she finally murmurs, her lips tickling my finger as she speaks.
“Honestly, not sure. This is unfamiliar territory for me.”
“Yeah, same.”
“I should go.”
She giggles, and the way her head moves with the action, she wiggles out of reach. “You said that.”
“Are the boys early risers?”
“Jace is up by six, Atlas I usually have to wake by seven.”
“What about you? What time do you wake up?”
“Six, when Jace climbs into bed with me to snuggle.”
Okay, but how cute is that?
“Ah, that’s adorable.”
“Not every morning.” She sighs. “It’s so ingrained in him, I don’t know how he’d react if I told him no. And even if I did, he’d be awake, either watching TV or wreaking havoc, no doubt. Less damage than what Atlas would do for sure, but it wouldn’t be like I’d get more sleep. I’d be lying in bed, my mind concocting all the things he’d be getting into, and I wouldn’t get any more rest.”
“You ramble a lot.”
She flushes red, and I hate I’m the direct cause. “Yeah, I do. Sorry.”
