Page 90 of The Art of Being Merry
“Even more of a badass than I realized. That had to have been scary as shit, too. Driving overnight with two kids? That takes balls, Clementine.”
I shrug. “Or a woman who’s been driven to the brink of insanity. Take your pick.”
The ringing of Dax’s phone interrupts the moment, giving me a reprieve from having to share more of one of the worst days of my life.
“It’s Meredith. No doubt she’s been watching us this whole time.” He swipes to answer. “Yeah?” I can’t hear the other end of the line. “She was explaining what the noise sounded like. We’re on the way now.” He hangs up, running his fingers through his hair, tangling it up. As if his appearance needs to be sexier. “Got time for a little joyride?”
“Sure thing.”
27
dax
I debatedwhether to stay at the house while Clementine dropped the boys off at my parents, but in the end, I decided against it, choosing to run to Winterberry Brews for coffee and the hardware store for the hinge to fix the cabinet door. I have no doubt they’ll be fine without me there. My parents have an agenda planned for them and are stoked to have the company. Should be interesting to hear how it goes.
As for me, I’m curious about our afternoon. After our discussion yesterday about the real reason she came to Winterberry Junction, her ex—what a fucking tool—and me laying my feelings on the line, I’m not sure exactly where we stand besides for we’re trying “something different.” Excitement courses through me at what this will look like.
As long as it gets me more time with her, in and out of the bedroom, I’m going to cherish it. I meant every word I said about the person she is. And if she’ll give me the chance to prove myself, maybe there’s an opportunity that what we have has some kind of lasting power.
Even if it’s slim.
If she’s willing to put up with bumps along the path, I’ll put in the work. My life has been exponentially changed since she came into it. I’d be a fool for not taking my shot.
I pull into the driveway behind her, but I’m out of my truck,coffee in hand, before she’s out of her seat. With my free hand, I open her door, her staring at me with an expression I’m unfamiliar with. Disbelief morphs into sorrow.
“What’s wrong?”
“Somehow, three hours became six. I can’t be sure it wasn’t Atlas’s idea or one of your parents.”
“O-kay. Why the long face?”
“I can’t leave my children with your parents forsixhours!”
“Why not? Are you worried it’s too long? Do you not trust them?” A bead of sweat forms on my neck. If she’s this upset about it, would she cancel the entire thing?
“Of course, I trust them. They raised four children, and they’re ‘young’ grandparents. But six hours, Dax.”
Maybe she’s concerned about how her boys will be. “Are you worried about your boys being there too long?”
“I’m worried your parents are going to be exhausted and taken advantage of and will never agree to spend time with my children again.” She expels a long breath.
“No way. They’ll all be fine and will survive. If there’s a problem, they’ll call us.” I’m afraid to ask her opinion about this afternoon. Is she going to have trouble being creative if she’s worried about what’s happening at my parents’? I lift the tray. “I brought coffee.”
In a flash, her concern disappears, replaced by a smile. She leans from her seat, held back by her belt, and puts her hands on my face. “You brilliant man. I could kiss you.”
“I wouldn’t stop you.” I incline closer, careful not to let the coffee spill or fall out of the tray. “A prelude to later?”
“Indeed. Six hours, Dax.” Her hands drop from my face, but she doesn’t follow through with her threat of kissing me.
She’s stuck on this six-hour business. “You mentioned that.”
“Know what we could do with six, entire uninterrupted hours?” She’s downright gleeful now, and the slight bubble of dread pops.
“Double what we planned to do in three.”
“I have so many ideas of what to do with you.”
I quirk a brow. “Do you now?”
