Page 15 of The Sleight Before Christmas

“What?” he asks, chewing slowly.

“I think you’ll get the idea really soon, my boy.”

I walk out, leaving Peyton at the table, stopping behind the wall just out of sight as he finishes his breakfast alone. Heart aching as he mumbles to himself, I resign myself to the fact that this is for the better—for the long run. To set a new standard. Truth is, we have failed as disciplinarians. When things got significantly better for us financially, we went overboard. Maybe we got too busy maintaining the new business that we started to give in to them. But there’s no excuse for their behavior. None justifiable enough to have me rethinking this. Especially with Gracie’s reaction.

Day one, Thatch. Day one.

It’s not the image of Serena the first time I saw her that sticks out in my mind anymore as I eventually join Peyton and wash out my bowl. It’s the image of her this morning. The feel of her against my fingertips. The smile that greeted me. For the first time in years, I feel present. I feel like I’m actually living my life. And though this sting is uncomfortable from the stunt I just pulled, taking action feels right.

I want that smile back. The one that says her whole life is in front of her. And more importantly, a smile that says my wife has the life she wants.

“Who are you?” Serena rattles off between perfectly plump, glossy lips.

“Thatch, Serena,” Ruby introduces while stalking toward her daughter. “Is that any way to treat a guest of this house?” She scolds before pulling Serena in for a hug. “We told you about the young man who answered the want ad your father placed to help build the deck.”

“No, you didn’t,” Serena counters, her eyes on mine.

“That’s because you only hear what you want to,” Ruby mutters as Serena gives her a half-assed return hug, her eyes still zeroed in on me.

“Young man?” She mimics, clearly guestimating my age. This I consider a win because she’s doing it to satisfy her own curiosity.

Play it cool, O’Neal.

Shoving my hands into my jeans, I nod toward the open door where snow is still filtering in. “Aren’t you cold?”

Ruby grins, taking the scarf dangling in Serena’s idle hand before Serena snaps to, turning abruptly and closing the door behind her. As Ruby hangs her scarf on a nearby coat rack, Serena zeroes in on me. Tossing her shoulders back, she stalks toward me, openly sizing me up before stopping just next to me fireside. Palming the air to warm her hands, she fixes her gaze on the flames as she speaks. “So, if the deck is done, why are you here now?”

“Jesus, kid, you’re an asshole,” Ruby says through a sigh. I can’t help my grin at her point-blank delivery. It’s one of the things I love most about Ruby, and it seems her eldest daughter is no less subtle. “I’m sure your father and I have taught you that the art of conversation doesn’t start or need to include an insult.” Ruby turns to me. “Sorry, Thatch. Try to hold your own while I finish dinner. I’ll send Allen in to bail you out if I can find him.” Ruby gifts me a departing wink before she disappears.

“Just asking a question,” Serena shrugs before turning toward the fire I still have my back to. Up close, sheisfire, and I take notes as the flames lick along her profile. The first is that her lips are overly glossed.

“You get a lot of compliments on your lips?” I ask.

Said lips simper with a smile. “Maybe, why?”

“It’s obvious,” I mutter, and she frowns before she takes offense, eyes narrowing.

“Ah, so, my mom ducks out, and your true colors shine through. Not the nice boy she said you were. Figures.”

“Thought you said she didn’t tell you about me? And it’s just a question because from where I’m standing, you could signal and land a plane with the amount of high gloss you have going on there.” I imitate her flippant shrug. “Was wondering where Whitney picked up the habit.”

“Uh huh, well, I guess mystery solved. Nice to meet you, Thatch,” she shoots me a withering stare, and I widen my eyes in amusement.

“There are those well-embedded manners. A real pleasure, Serena,” I smirk as she glares back at me, full of piss and vinegar as she stalks off.

“Mom,” she glances back at me just as I flick my gaze up from her ass, “where’s Brenden and Whitney?”

Wedged into a tiny desk in Mrs. May’s classroom, I shoot my son a withering look as he shrinks beneath it. A freshly delivered paper full of sad faces, his report for today, further stoking my agenda.

“So again,” she relays, unable to fully disguise her scolding. “I ask that you give him a stern talking to about the language, the biting, and interrupting naps.”

Much to my dismay, it’s not Gracie’s school I got the call from today. No, this summons for today’s parenting lesson came thanks to my son.

“And what do you suggest I say?” I ask, knowing the clock is ticking out on picking up that check. It’s size enough to safely cover my employees’ Christmas bonuses as well as cushion our commercial account for any unexpected expenses over the holidays. A check I was prevented from collecting due to an urgent call regarding my son from Pre-K because Serena is at her OBGYN appointment.”

“Pardon?”

I shift my focus from the toy-littered classroom to the fresh-faced twenty-something subtly calling me out. “I asked what you would say, Mrs. May.”

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