Page 87 of The Art of Being Merry
I suck in a breath, anticipating what she’s going to say about me. When she stays silent, I provide, “Not the settling-down type.”
“Well, yeah.” Hearing her confirm it sucks balls.
Is it too crazy to think for the right woman, I could change?
“I don’t want to think I’m using you for hot sex. Maybe if you’re free to see other people, I could be okay with being your booty call.”
I hop out of my seat and pace. “Don’t do that, Clementine.”
“Do what?”
“Diminish who you are. Expect that having sex with youwouldn’t be enough for me. That I’d need to get it somewhere else when you’re not available.” The words leave a bitter aftertaste. Why would she think I’d be okay with sleeping with someone else while I was also sleeping with her?
Maybe because that’s what you do.
The truth slams into me. That was my past behavior. Before her.
“What if I could offer you more than hot sex?” My heart rate accelerates as I voice the words, speaking from a place with no forethought. I’m not sure if it’s because I believe them or because I don’t.
“I can’t take the chance of you failing. It’s not just me. They already have a shitty dad. I can’t let them down a second time.”
Again, her honest words cut deep. Everything she’s saying is exactly why we can’t get more involved than we already are. It blows big time. I shouldn’t be affected at all, yet now I’m frustrated and pissed at myself.
“Limbo it is. Thanks again for the coffee. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I wait for her to end the call, and when she does, I toss my phone on the desk. Swiping the coffee cup—surprised when it doesn’t spill—I storm out of the office. “I’ll be in the garage. If you need me, no you don’t.”
These are the kinds of days I’m glad I can fix things after I break them.
26
clem
I stareat the brick building housing Frostline Auto Garage, working up the nerve to go inside. It’s bigger than I pictured it. The entrance door is in the center of the building, with oversized white garage doors on each side. A car with a banged-up rear bumper sits in front of the garage to the right, which I assume is the auto body side.
I don’t know why I’m here, why I can’t get the “argument” with Dax out of my head, but it stole all my creativity. And I won’t get it back until I make things right. Though I’m not sure that’s even possible where we’re at.
I practiced my speech I’m going to give to the person at the counter about why I’m here instead of calling. Long as my voice doesn’t give me away, I should be able to sustain the lie.
I turn off the van’s engine, check myself in the rearview mirror, and climb out.
Butterflies dance in my abdomen. Here goes nothing.
I pull open the glass door, but no bell or other noise announces me. A woman around my age, give or take a few years, sits at a desk behind glass. As if she can sense my presence, she looks up and stands, greeting me at the counter with a smile. “Hi, welcome to Frostline. Do you have an appointment?”
“No. Is Dax here by any chance?” First line of my speech delivered flawlessly. Let’s hope the rest of it goes as well.
The woman—Meredith, maybe—eyes me over her glasses. I can guess what she’s thinking as she looks me over. “He is. Who should I tell him is here?”
“Clementine.”
She does a double take, trying to place me. “As in Willa’s sister?”
I hadn’t prepared for her knowing who I was. Time to go off script.
“Uh, yeah. That’s me.” I could stop and do small talk, but I prattle on, needing to get to Dax as fast as possible. Or more like needing to get away from her as soon as possible. “Dax told me to stop by anytime my car had an issue, and well, the engine’s making some knocking noise. Just want to make sure it’s safe to drive my kids around, you know?”
“Sure, of course.” She extends her hand. “Meredith Dixon. It’s great to meet you. I adore Willa. She and Beckett make a great couple. She’s exactly the type of woman he needs in his life.”
