Page 48 of The Art of Being Merry
He narrows his eyes. Have I kept every promise to the kid? Absolutely not, and he’s leery of that. He won’t understand my trying to explain how I know Dax won’t let him down. I’m not sure why I’m so certain. Though he hasn’t shown that side of himself to us, he’s not perfect, and I can’t be thinking he is. He’shuman. Eventually, his armor will crack, and we’ll be let down. But today isn’t that day. I can attest with one thousand percent certainty, today isn’t the day Dax becomes fallible.
I place my hands on his shoulders, a tactic I’ve used since he was an anxious baby. He doesn’t immediately settle, but some of the tension melts away.
He releases a sigh, his body sagging with the motion. “Okay, Mama. I just don’t want to miss Santa.”
“I get your excitement. Heck, I don’t want to miss Santa either. I’ve got something on my list to ask for.”
“Oh, yeah. What’s that?”
I don’t realize Dax has joined us on the porch until his voice bellows. Glancing at him, a twinkle shines in his eye. It’s not the least bit unsexy, and if I had to describe it, I’d say it’s on the naughty side.
Why do I feel this man has the potential to be my undoing?
More so, why would I let him?
I stare at the handsomeness of Dax Nicholas—his sparkling eyes, his crooked smile, the nearly perfect teeth. Did he ask me a question? And if so, what was it?
I shake out of the stupor, ignoring whatever he said, hoping he’ll let me get away with not responding since I’ve got no clue what I’d be responding to. “Come in.”
Dax looks between the two of us. “Don’t mind if I do.” He steps inside, handing the tray of drinks and the bag to me, wipes his boots on the mat, and then toes out of them.
He’s never once asked if he should remove his boots, but I appreciate the fact I didn’t have to ask. That he takes the hint we don’t wear shoes in the house. Less mess to clean up, when I get around to cleaning. He doesn’t seem put off by taking them off or having to put them back on when we leave shortly for our outing.
“I went out on a limb for your coffee.”
“Did you now?”
“If you hate it, I’m sorry. But when you love it, I’m not.” His teasing tone unleashes more emotions inside me, ones I’m trying to keep contained, clearly not doing a good job at all.
I cock my head. “How do you know I’ll love it?”
“Because it’s delicious.”
“Says you.” I’m all too aware of the boys watching this interaction. Though it’s not inappropriate, it’s not something they need to see. I turn from Dax, heading to the table. “What’s in the bag?”
“Donuts. I was too late to get any of the special holiday ones, so they’re all glazed. Hopefully, you’ll give me a chance to amend my mistake another day.”
Atlas asks, “What kind of holiday donuts?”
“There are a few different kinds, but the one decorated like Santa Claus is my favorite. But they only make a limited daily selection, and they sell out quickly. I wanted to get there earlier, but I slept through my alarm. The good thing is we have plenty of weeks left in the season, so I’ll plan better for next time.”
Jace joins the conversation, his gaze homed in on Dax’s head. “I love your hat.”
Dax feels for it, like he forgot he’s wearing it. “Thanks. I have an entire collection of different hats. Remind me to show you the next time you’re at my house.”
The man is killing me with thenext time.
It’s up to me not to let it.
15
dax
I can’t readClementine 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—ifI 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.
