Page 85 of The Art of Being Merry
Jace is already asleep, so I slip out to the living room while she says goodnight to Atlas. The closing of their door alerts me to her presence. I’m standing in the kitchen, and when she spots me, I blurt, “I should go.”
“No, you shouldn’t.”
Life comes to a screeching halt.
“I shouldn’t?” I utter. “Did I misread the hints from earlier?”
“As if you ‘misread’ them.” She puts air quotes around misread. “More like ignored.”
Her words cause something inside me to snap. I stalk over to her, thankfully quiet in my socks, stopping when she’s forced to lean back and peer up at me. What I wish I could do with her sassy mouth.
With other parts of her.
Instead, I take her hair out of the messy bun she put in before cooking, running my fingers through the strands. She melts at my touch, prompting me to continue. To see how far I can push her.
I shouldn’t. I know I shouldn’t be touching her, but the rules went out the window hours ago, and with them, staying within the lines of a casual relationship.
“Would you let me paint you?”
Her question is so out of the blue, so not what I’m expecting, my hand drops from her face, and it forces me to take a step back.
“Huh?”
“I have this idea, but I need a willing participant.”
“And you want me to be that willing participant?”
“I do. But we’d have to do it when no one’s home but us. And it has to be here because of the studio space. If you agree, I’ll work out the details. Maybe Willa can take the boys for a few hours or something.”
“We can send them to my parents’ house.” I don’t phrase it correctly, as evidenced by her quick intake of breath. “Wait. Not what I meant. I mean, my parents would love to have them spend a few hours at their house. In fact, they’d love it. Mom’s always talking about how she wishes she had more grandkids. I think it’s supposed to be a hint for me, especially because she only seems to say it when I’m the only one around. She doesn’t want to put pressure on Beck and Willa, but she has no qualms about letting me know her opinions. As if I’ve given her oodles of proof kids are on my radar.” The more I speak, the more nonsense I spew until I don’t even know what I’m saying. “I adore kids. I’m just not certain they’re for me,” I conclude the diatribe.
How did that explanation go so awry? From having her kids go to my parents to thoughts of me being a father. Though a fondness permeates Clementine’s expression, one not previously there.
“You’re fantastic with my boys. With Shania. With Isla. Don’t sell yourself so short. But I also get being good with kids and having your own are two very different things. And not every person should be a parent. The only reason I’m glad my ex procreated is because otherwise I wouldn’t have my boys.”
“You want more someday?”
“Maybe, maybe not. Depends on where I end up. I’m not closing the door on being done, but if I end up with someone who doesn’t want more or end up on my own, at least I have Jace and Atlas.”
I nod, choosing not to unpack any of her statements and get back to the original task at hand. “Seriously, though. My mom would love to keep them for us.” An idea percolates, and I snap my fingers, causing her to jump. “We could tell them you’re helping me with the decorations for the holiday breakfast, which you are, and ask if they wouldn’t mind keeping them for a few hours.” As good as the idea is, I hadn’t considered that maybe the boys wouldn’t be comfortable spending time with my parentsalone. “Unless the boys wouldn’t want to do that. If that’s the case, I could take half a day off and make it work.”
“My boys haven’t stopped talking about your parents’ tree or the mac and cheese or the swing set since we had dinner there. I doubt they’d mind spending a few hours there. If it’s not too cold to play outside, all the better.”
“Super. It’s settled. Find a few times in your calendar, and I’ll see what works better for Mom and Dad.”
“You haven’t yet agreed to let me paint you.”
“That’s a given, Clementine. Do I get to choose the pose or do you have something in mind?”
“I have something in mind, but I’m not opposed to listening to your opinions.” A small smirk slides onto her lips. “However, it’s time for you to leave now. If you don’t, I can’t be certain my clothes will stay on.”
I quirk a brow. Much as I want that, it’s for the best that I leave. I’ve already overstayed my welcome. “Damn, I kinda want to see that. But,” I pause, stepping into her space again because I can’t stay away from her. “I’ll respect your decision. When can I see you again?”
“Whenever your parents can watch the boys.”
I’m shaking my head before she finishes. “Nope, too long.”
She throws her hands in the air, exasperated. I’d like it a lot more if I made her exasperated in another way. “We don’t even know when it is.”
