Page 10 of The Art of Being Merry
“A perfect day for a trip to Target. What time should I be here?”
I’m momentarily confused by what he’s talking about until our earlier conversation slams into me.
He agreed to watch the boys while I go shopping.
“How about you bring more of those bagels you brought to Aunt Willa’s house last month? Jace and I loved them. And then you can tell Mom where to get them because she claims she doesn’t know.”
I close my eyes at the way my oldest throws me under the bus, letting Dax in on more of my secrets.
“Atlas,” I chide, though I’m not sure which part I’m reprimanding him for. Both have equal ramifications.
With an amused grin, Dax shifts his torso toward the back seat, zoning in on Atlas. “Bagels, huh? What kinds?”
Oh my god. I can’t believe he’s entertaining this idea. No wonder my son’s so enamored with him.
“Cinnamon raisin for me. Blueberry for Jace. Mom says she likes everything, but her favorite is the rainbow one. Oh, and we’ll need cream cheese, too.”
I nearly choke as Atlas rattles off our order, like this is a sure thing. I shove my hands over my flaming face, hoping to sink into the chair.
“Rainbow. Got it.” I can’t see Dax’s face, but delight shines in his tone. “Anything else?”
“A large hazelnut coffee with almond milk and two hot chocolates with regular milk.” Just when I think he’s done, he prattles, “Oh, and don’t forget your favorite bagel and hot beverage.”
A strangled sound escapes my throat. How does this kid get me into these situations? How do I get him to understand when it’s appropriate to ask for something and when it’s not?
“Great. What time do you normally eat breakfast?”
“Since it’s the weekend, after eight. School days are earlier because, school.”
As embarrassed as I am, I have to stifle the laugh trying to break free with Atlas’s comment.
“Wait. If you bring my car back, how will you get home when it’s time for you to leave?”
“I’ll find a ride. Dad, Beck, Autumn. Someone will grab me. Don’t worry your pretty little head about it.”
“Mama’s so pretty.” Jace, ever my biggest fan. Despite the circumstances of how he was conceived, my life wouldn’t be complete without him. I knew it the minute they placed him on my chest, the feeling so different from Atlas’s birth.
“Thanks, Jacey.” We’ve stalled enough, even if I didn’t realize we were stalling. “We should get inside, get them to bed.”
“Right. Must be getting to their bedtime.”
Since we’ve been sitting in the driveway for a few minutes, the boys are already unbuckled. I release mine, climbing out of the van with my purse and what’s left of the eggnog. I didn’t think I needed such a big second glass, but it’s too yummy to waste.
To say I’m shocked when Dax joins us in front of the van is an understatement.
“You don’t have to walk us in. I’m not completely impaired.”
Dax dares to chuckle, the sound drifting on the winds of the almost wintery evening. “He’s right, you know?” He must read the confusion on my face. “Jace.” I flip back to what Jace could be right about, but Dax beats me to the punch. He leans in, making sure what he has to say is for my ears only. “You are pretty, Clementine. Night. See you for breakfast.”
His compliment issued, he salutes the boys with a goodbye and climbs behind the wheel.
I’m blaming the way my body heats inside on the alcohol and not the sexy man who called me pretty.
The next morning, the doorbell rings at eight a.m. sharp. The boys and I snuggle in my bed, the best way to start a Sunday. Having to break from our cocoon is not high on my agenda until reality reminds me it’s most likely Dax at the door.
With bagels and cream cheese, because my little con manswindled him into it. Still working out a way to get Atlas to understand why we don’t do this.
I’ll be working on it for a while.
