Page 43 of The Art of Being Merry
“But why is it funny for Mama?” Atlas’s gaze travels between Dax and me, trying to understand the humor and meaning.
Dax nonchalantly shrugs. “Something to make your Mama smile and think of me.”
As if I could forget him.
“Oh.” Atlas’s disappointment with Dax’s answer rings out in the quiet room.
“You gotta put them on the tree, Mama,” Jace instructs. “Anywhere you want.”
“Okay.” I make a show of searching and searching for the best spot. I have to say, somehow all the ornaments are distributed evenly among the branches, with no clusters we usually have on the tree. I find the perfect spot for the lights one, but then turn to Dax.
“Could you hang this one right here?” I point to a spot in the front of the tree that’s too high to reach. When he swipes it from my hand, a jolt of electricity shoots through me, similar to before when I handed him the scissors.
At this point, I’m not questioning it.
I’d never be able to explain what this man is doing to me, even if I possessed Willa’s storytelling abilities.
13
dax
I offerto clean up the kitchen while Clementine does the bedtime routine. When I’m finished and she’s still in the boys’ room, I admire the tree, surveying the different ornaments.
I believe ornaments chronicle a story about the family. This one is a mishmash of the past and present history of Clementine and the boys. Three first Christmas ornaments, a collection of different trains, many art-related ones, and my favorite: a picture of a young Clementine on a shellacked present. She’s probably Jace’s age. Her red hair’s much shorter, and she’s missing her two front teeth. She’s adorable in a red and green plaid jumper.
“How did that one get on the tree?” she wonders from next to me. So engrossed in the tree, I didn’t hear her enter the living room.
“You were a cutie.”
“Wasa cutie?” she chirps. “Am I not still cute?”
Any other woman, I’d think her question was a trap. But the stakes with Clementine are low, prompting me to say, “You are. Wasn’t sure how you’d take me referring to you that way.”
“I’d take it as a compliment. Your words are sincere. There’s no pretense. I like that about you.” She knocks her hip into me. The action is so jarring, I almost topple over. Not that she’s so strong, but because I’m not expecting it.
“Thanks. What about me? Can you say the same?”
She takes a step back and crosses her arms over her chest. Her gaze zips up and down my body, scrutinizing what she’s seeing.
“You are handsome. Not classically handsome like Cary Grant, but ruggedly so. Your face is nearly symmetrical, and the chiseled jawline is exquisite. Your cheekbones are very prominent in a good way. All of it adds up to your attraction.”
I wasn’t expecting such a detailed answer, but I keep forgetting she’s an artist and sees the world differently than most.
Which reminds me of the real reason I’m here.
I rub my hands together. “Ugly sweater time. I assume you’re prepared to show me your ideas?”
Clementine rolls her eyes, the action adding to her cuteness factor. “Duh. I made some rough sketches, but if you like any of them, I’ll firm them up, show you what you’d be working with.” She takes off for her bedroom, reappearing a moment later with a sketch pad. “If you hate them all, I can try again if you’ll let me. Or not. I won’t be offended. Your tastes might not line up with mine, but I hope there’s something you can work with.” She sets the book on the kitchen table and invites me to sit next to her. From this vantage point up close, I can’t miss the layer of freckles spread across her nose and cheeks.
“You told me I had nothing to worry about. Now it sounds like you’re taking that back.”
“That was my disclaimer in case we need it. I doubt we will.” She flips to the first page. There’s a sketch of a reindeer with holiday lights in the antlers, the words “Happy Holidays” in script toward the bottom. There’s no color, but the details in her “rough sketch” are astounding. She pushes the book my way. “Feel free to look through and choose something. I can combine ideas as needed. Whatever works. You let me know.”
“And if I see something I like, how will we bring it to fruition?”
“I’ll either piece it together with different materials, or I can sew it on. Depends on what you choose.”
Her confidence is downright sexy. Which is something I shouldn’t be thinking about my brother’s sister-in-law, but can you blame me? She’s fired up, alight with possibilities.
