Page 88 of The Art of Being Merry
“Yeah,” I agree, because it’s true. They complement each other so well. “If Dax is busy, I can wait.” I motion my head toward the chairs.
“I’ll check in with him. Between you and me, he’s in a mood. He swears it’s not a woman, but I can think of no other reason he’d be so irritated.”
“Does he get irritated by women often?” As if the script hadn’t flown through the window, the question spews from my mouth without a chance to think it through. How is this my business, and why would she answer it?
Meredith cocks her head to the side. “Come to think of it, no. But earlier this week he was giddier than usual, and today he’s throwing stuff. Guess there’s a first time for everything.” She shrugs as the back of my neck heats. Wonder how much other information I could glean from her. Maybe if I play my cards right . . .
“Clementine? What are you doing here?” Meredith and I rotate toward Dax’s voice. A set of grease-stained coveralls obscures his clothes underneath. Who knew I’d be into that look? Though I’m certain Dax could pull off any look, and I’d be putty in his hands.
“Engine. Knocking noise. Checked out.” I could slap myself for spewing such nonsense. Not even a complete sentence, but a bunch of words strung together.
“Come again?” Dax asks with a chuckle.
I’m sure he doesn’t mean the innuendo, but damn if I hear it. Stupid brain. Except this time, I’m determined to keep my words inside.
I try again. “There’s a knocking sound in my engine. Remember you told me to stop by anytime I needed something looked at?”
His head bobs, completely going along with my fabrication of the truth. “Oh, yeah, sure. Why don’t we go for a short drive so I can hear it?”
Not only does he go along with it, he adds embellishment. Why does he have to be so unavailable?
“Great.”
“Be back in ten, Mere.”
He ushers me outside and holds out his grease-stained fingers. Once I’m sure no one can hear us, I say, “The engine’s fine,” handing over the keys.
“That’s why I suggested the drive.”
“Would that not be the usual protocol?” I wonder.
“I certainly wouldn’t invite the customer to come with me for the ride, but yeah. I’d take it for a short spin, see if I could identify the noise before I put it up on the lift.” Even though he knows the truth, he still makes me get in the passenger seat as he climbs behind the wheel, adjusting the seat to accommodate our height difference. “What’s the real reason you’re here?” He starts it up and slips his belt on. I follow suit. Guess we’re keeping up the charade.
“To apologize.”
That gets his attention, and he whips his head to me. Thankfully, he hadn’t yet put the van in drive. “For what?”
“I said some not nice things earlier.”
“Nothing that wasn’t true.”
“True or not, I didn’t mean to be unkind. To hurt your feelings.”
His jaw clenches. “You didn’t.”
“You sure about that?” Maybe I didn’t “hurt his feelings,” but it upset him.
He leans his head against the headrest. “I never wanted to feel trapped in a relationship nor wanted more than a few nights with the same woman. I’ve never considered what settling down could look like for me.” I don’t know how I know, but he’s not done, so I wait him out. “Then I met you, Clementine. Spent time getting to know you as a friend. And suddenly all I wanted was to do nice things for you, spend more time with you and your kids, be a man you could lean on. Which is stupid and idiotic and every other word meaning the same. You’re right that we could never be more. But it doesn’t mean it doesn’t suck. It doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt in here.” He taps his fist against his heart.
“Why me?” It’s the only thing I can think to ask that makes any kind of sense.
“You’re magnetic to be around. You’re a great mom. You’re beautiful. You make me laugh. You’re talented beyond measure. You make me want to be a better man. For you. For your kids. For myself.”
With so much sincerity in his tone, I can’t look at him as he praises me. He’s not saying it for my benefit. He’s saying it for his. He truly believes these things aboutme. With my baggage and all, he wants to be better for me. However, I like how he added himself. Even at the end. It means he’s serious about the change because he’d do it for him, too. That’s the only way genuine change happens—when the person wants it for themselves.
“That’s a lot of reasons,” I whisper, not trusting my voice.
“Give me time. I’ll come up with more.”
