Page 23 of The Art of Being Merry
Based on this one interaction, which isn’t much to go on.
It dawns on me I still haven’t answered him. I clear my throat, swallowing down what I truly want. “I’d like raspberry seltzer, please.”
“Great. Cup or from the can?”
“Ew. Not the can. Never from the can.” I shudder. Drinking from a can or bottle is one of my pet peeves.
“Got it. Ice or no ice?” He grabs a cup from the cabinet.
“Two ice cubes.”
“Very specific. I like it.” He smiles, and the wattage could power the entire house.
“Not too demanding?”
My comment earns me a glare. “Um, no. I asked what you wanted, you answered. Not demanding.”
Ah, there lies the difference between this man and my ex-husband. Keith never asked if I wanted ice, so when I requested it, he’d call me demanding.
And he’d give me the drink with no ice.
Bastard.
Dax sets the glass in front of me and sits in the chair on my right. “Hi.”
I can’t help but giggle. “Hi. Thanks for all of this. Way above and beyond your offer of babysitting. Very much appreciated.”
“You’re welcome. Happy to help. Anytime. Your boys are sweet.”
I beam at his compliment. My boys are the best, even when they’re driving me up a wall and batshit crazy, which is seventy-five percent of the time. “Thanks.”
“Dax, we have to finish our game,” Atlas proclaims, still sitting in his chair. With all that Dax was doing for me, I almost forgot he was in the room.
“Sure, Ace. Let’s do it.”
Thirty minutes later, we pile into the van so I can drive Dax home.
I’ve only been to the Nicholases’ house twice. This past summer before Willa’s wedding and once last Christmas, my first night in town. It’s homey and cozy, almost the opposite of where Willa and I grew up. Our childhood home was cold and bare, and we were lucky to have a tree. In comparison, the Nicholases’ house is fully decorated for the season.
I was not privy to Dax’s basement apartment on either of my visits, so I can’t say what it looks or feels like. I find it a little odd he still lives in his parents’ basement, but am I one to judge? He doesn’t fit the mold or stereotype, so maybe it’s a temporary thing.
“Mama, did you know Dax has two Christmas trees at his house?”
“No, three. Two downstairs and one upstairs,” Atlas corrects his brother.
“Nope, that’s a new fact I’m learning.”
“Can we see them?”
I’m about to decline Jace’s request, but Dax beats me to it. “Of course. Well, your mom has to agree. I didn’t get the memo about what else is on your agenda today.”
“Nothing until bath time, right, Mama?” There’s so much in what Atlas doesn’t say in his pleading tone that makes me want to agree with him.
There’s no harm in seeing where the man lives, right?
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