Page 80 of The Art of Being Merry
Clementine opens the door, stealing my breath.
She’s in an oversized crew sweatshirt and leggings, but her hair’s down, making all the difference.
I greet her with, “Your hair looks good down.” There’s so much more I want to say—and do—but I refrain, keeping my interaction brief.
She reaches out and touches the end. “Thanks. I was letting it dry after my shower, and I forgot to put it up.”
I can’t let the visual of her in the shower invade my mind. I won’t ever get it out.
She moves out of the way, inviting me into the house. I remove my shoes and hand over the six-pack of holiday ale I picked up on the way over. I left work a little early so I’d have time to shower and stop at the store.
“Dax, you’re here,” Atlas shouts, dashing over to me, sliding on the wood floor in his socks.
“Hey, Atlas. How’s it going?”
“Eh.” He sounds like a teenager, and my laugh carries into the small house.
“Dax!” Jace’s welcomemirrors Atlas. “I can’t believe you’re here for dinner.” He throws his arms around my legs and peers up at me with those wide eyes, a darker shade than his mama.
“I was so excited when your mama invited me. I hear it’s grilled cheese, one of my favorite sandwiches.”
Jace bounces with excitement. “Mine too. And Mama got thespecial bread, so it’s even better. Yum.” He rubs his stomach. It’s the cutest action ever. All over special bread. I’ll never get over the innocence of children.
“I’m honored I get the special bread.”
“And bacon, if that’s your jam. It’s not for Jace, but I’m all about the meat.” Clementine’s cheeks flame redder than a bull’s cloth. Man, I wish I could call her out on her comment, but there are kids around, and I’m practicing being a gentleman tonight.
“Bacon is good for me, please.”
“Jace and Atlas, set the table, please.” Atlas goes to complain, but a glare from Clementine nips it in the bud. Wonder what I can do to earn that glare.
Damn, five minutes in, and I’m already breaking my gentleman vow. If only in my mind.
“How was arting?” I ask instead of the dozen other questions I want answers to.
“Productive. And I made some progress on your sweater. I’ll show you later.”
“Wow. You’re not messing around with the whole time crunch thing, huh?”
I follow her to the kitchen, where the ingredients for dinner are set out. The boys mill about, placing plates, napkins, and silverware on the table.
“I’m usually good about other people’s deadlines, especially when I’m getting paid.” Again, her cheeks heat, but not as red this time. “I don’t mean to imply you have to pay me, but when I’m doing work for clients, I get paid, so I prioritize those jobs, which usually means I’m neglecting house chores or laundry, but for some reason today, I had a lot of energy and found a decent balance.”
“Bet the caffeine treat helped.”
Her hands still in the air, the knife poised above the butter, her expression pensive. “You know what? I didn’t make the connection, but I bet you’re right.” Her excitement falters, and she gets back to work buttering the bread. “Well, that’s inconvenient.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t start every morning with a Merry Mintmas.”
“You could.”
She points the knife at me. Luckily, it can’t do much harm since it’s a butter knife, but I take a step back. “Don’t tempt me. And don’t think about having one delivered every morning. My taste buds and productivity would appreciate it. My hips, not so much.”
I lower my voice, though the boys are busy in their own little world. “Would give me a little more to hold on to.”
Welp. Gentleman Dax has left the building.
