Chasing Olivia (Trace + Olivia #2) (30 page)

“Thank you,” I smiled, gazing at all the stars as I turned the jar around in my hands.

“Your father made those,” her voice grew quiet and she looked away from me as tears pooled in her eyes.

“I can’t take this,” I tried to hand the jar back to her, but she refused.

“No,” she shook her head hastily. “I want you to have it.”

“I can’t take this,” I whispered. I
wanted
them, after all it was something my dad had made, and all I had to remember him by were the photos my mom gave me, but it didn’t seem right to take them. They obviously meant a lot to her.

“I insist, honestly,” she forced a smile. “I have plenty. I don’t need these and you should have something of his.”

I glided my finger over the metal top. “Tell me about him. Please.”

Her gaze grew wistful. “He was the youngest child and he was always so…
happy
…and he wanted other people to be happy too. He was kind and giving. He would go without, so someone else could have. I remember one time,” she smiled sadly, “where he came home from school, starving to death, or so he said, because he’d given his lunch to a boy in his class who didn’t have one. He worried more about everyone else, than himself. He was just that kind of person.”

“He sounds like a remarkable man,” I whispered.

“He really was. He wasn’t like most people, and he left the world much too soon.” She laid a hand against my cheek and looked down at me, studying my face intently. “He would have loved you so much, Olivia. I want you to know that. I’m sorry you never got the chance to know him.”

Both of us were crying freely now. She reached for a box of tissues, handing me one and taking one for herself.

“I’m so sorry,” she dried her face. “I don’t have much time with you and here I am crying again.”

“Tell me more,” I pleaded. “Did he play any sports in high school?”

“Does the chess club count?” She chuckled. “Derek was always the studious one while Dexter was the rebel. Dexter used to try to get Derek to cover for him. But poor Derek,” she shook her head, laughing lightly, “the boy couldn’t lie to save himself.”

“I think I got that trait from him then,” I giggled around my tears. It hurt to hear about him since I would never have the chance to know him but I
needed
this.

“Have you seen any pictures of him?” She asked, already spinning around her office in search of one.

“Yeah. I have some that my mom gave me,” I replied. “I-I look like him.”

“You do,” she stopped in the middle of the attic space. “You really do,” she whispered the last part wistfully. “I can’t believe I didn’t notice the similarities when you came into the shop the other day. I guess, since I didn’t know to look for them, you were just any other girl. I can’t believe,” she looked at the ground, fighting tears again, “I can’t believe you could have left here, and I would’ve gone on, never knowing that I had you as a granddaughter.”

I stood and went to hug her. “I guess we both have Trace to thank for that.”

“We definitely do,” she led me out of the room and down the narrow steps. “I have to get back to the store,” she frowned. “I know you would probably love a home cooked meal for dinner since you’ve been traveling but would you mind terribly if we ordered pizza tonight? That way we can spend more time catching up.”

“That would be great,” I smiled, dropping off the jar full of stars in the guestroom before going downstairs.

I hugged her again before she left. I had a feeling we would be doing a lot of hugging the next day or so.

I watched her drive away and the men slowly made their way back into the house.

“I couldn’t talk him into letting me drive that sweet ride out there,” my grandpa informed me when he shuffled back into the house, tossing a finger over his shoulder at Trace.

“Dad,” Dex chuckled, “that’s because you’re not a very good driver.”

Douglas cleared his throat as he took a seat on the couch. “He didn’t know that until you told him!” He exclaimed. “You blabbermouth!”

Dexter laughed, shaking his head at his father. “You’re a mess, old man.”

“Old man?” Doug scoffed. “You have almost as many gray hairs as I do!”

“Don’t remind me,” Dex grumbled, grabbing a piece of his curly hair and tugging on it.

“How are you?” Trace whispered in my ear as he came to my side.

“I’m okay,” I assured him.

He swiped beneath one of my eyes and I flinched at the tenderness still present from the bruise. “What the..?” He muttered, staring at the makeup now coating his thumb. He looked down at me and his eyes widened. He started to say something but then shut his mouth, a low growl emanating from his chest. Oh, crap.

“We’ll be right back,” he said through gritted teeth, taking my hand and leading me upstairs. “Which room are we staying in?” He snapped.

I startled at his tone and pointed a shaky finger at the room.

He dragged me inside and closed the door.

“What the hell, Olivia?” He growled, hands on his hips as he paced the length of the room. “Why didn’t you tell me about that?” He pointed at my black eye.

“I knew you’d get mad,” I whispered, my eyes darting to the ground.

“Fuck yes, I’m mad,” he stopped in front of me, breathing heavily. “I wondered why it didn’t bruise. Turns out it did and you were hiding it from me.”

“It’s just a bruise,” I mumbled.

He shoved his fingers through his hair, causing it to stick up wildly around his head. “It shouldn’t have happened,” he growled. “I should have—”

“You should have what, Trace?” I interrupted his tirade. “Stop and think for a second. There was nothing you could do to prevent this,” I pointed at my eye. “It wasn’t even really that guy’s fault. I fell, so what? Lots of people fall and scratch themselves or worse. I don’t know why you feel the need to make such a big deal out of it,” my voice grew heated. “I’m going to get hurt, Trace. You can’t bubble wrap me and send me out into the world.”

His lips quirked as he fought a smile. “I can try.”

“Let it go,” I sighed, letting my hands fall to my sides. “I have a black eye. You can’t wave a magic wand and make it disappear, so there’s no point in getting so worked up about it.”

“I’m sorry,” he took me into his arms, holding me close. His lips grazed the top of my head. “I overreacted and I shouldn’t have.”

“You’re right, you shouldn’t have.” My voice was muffled against his shirt.

Kissing the end of my nose, he told me, “Stay here. I’ll go get our bags and you can do what ever it is you’ve been doing to hide that,” he swirled his finger in front of my eye.

“It’s called makeup, Trace,” I laughed.

“Yeah, that,” he chuckled, backing out of the room.

I sat on the bed as I waited for him to return.

I looked around, still not quite believing that I was in my grandparent’s home. After my mom told me about my real dad, I’d never once thought about finding my grandparents. My mom had said they knew nothing of me, and since I was never one to put myself out there, it had never bothered me very much. Sure, I’d wondered about them, but I would’ve never had the guts to track them down. Leave it to Trace though.

He came back into the room and sat our bags down.

“I’m sure Dex and my grandpa wondered why you dragged me out of the room and upstairs,” I laughed.

“They probably thought I couldn’t control my animalistic male tendencies a minute longer and brought you up here so that I could ravish you,” he shrugged nonchalantly.

“Trace!” I giggled.

“I’m sure they were surprised when I came back down,” he continued. “With my pants on,” he added.

I laughed, not having a comment for that, and grabbed my makeup bag.

I headed across the hall to the bathroom and Trace followed me, leaning against the doorway.

He didn’t say anything as he watched me apply the makeup to hide the bruise. When I was done, he said, “Damn, that stuff is magical. I could use that to hide some of my scars,” he held his arms out. Pointing to one, he explained, “I got this one when my dad was teaching me how to ride a bike. He didn’t teach me how to brake, so when he let me go I had no clue how to stop.”

“Aw,” I frowned.

“It’s okay,” he chuckled. “I was a tough kid. Although, my dad wasn’t happy when I cussed like a sailor when he dabbed my cuts with alcohol. That stuff burns.”

I laughed heartily as I imagined a smaller version of Trace cussing at his dad. “Yeah, most parents wouldn’t be happy about that.”

I turned the light off in the bathroom and carried my makeup bag over to the bedroom.

When we made it back downstairs, Dexter and my grandpa were in the same spots we’d left them.

“Weren’t you going to build a birdhouse?” I asked my grandpa when I sat down beside him.

“I was,” he chuckled, “but now I have a granddaughter to get to know.”

He began asking me similar questions to the ones Margaret had asked when we made sandwiches. I answered every single one with a smile and asked him questions too. I found out that my grandparents were high school sweethearts and he’d fought in the Vietnam War. Once the war was brought up, he began telling different stories from his time in the war. Trace listened intently, his mouth hanging open in wonder.

I hadn’t realized how much time had passed, but suddenly Margaret was home again, carrying in three large pizzas.

“I wasn’t sure what you and Trace would like,” she explained. “So, I got a bit of everything.”

“Trace will eat anything,” I laughed, grabbing a plate.

“Like most men,” she squeezed my arm lightly as she passed by me to grab drinking glasses from the cabinet.

Dinner was much more relaxed than lunch had been. The newness of the situation had worn off and we were beginning to talk like we’d known one another forever.

By the time we cleaned up from dinner and said goodbye to Dex, I was exhausted and ready for bed.

I had taken a shower this morning before we left the hotel, so I didn’t bother with one now. I changed into my pajamas and climbed into bed. Margaret had been kind enough to let us use their washer and dryer so Trace had taken our dirty clothes to the laundry room, muttering that he hoped they had, “Mountain Spring fabric softener.” It was his favorite and he complained that his clothes didn’t smell right if he used anything else. He was crazy, but if it meant he washed the clothes and I didn’t have to bother with them, I’d let him have his quirks.

He returned a few minutes later, stripping down to his boxers, and climbing into the bed beside me. It was a full size bed, so once he was in it I ended up sprawled on his chest.

He tucked my head under his neck and began to hum under his breath. I was beginning to drift off to sleep when he asked, “Are you mad at me?”

I sat up abruptly, banging my head against the underside of his chin. “Ow!” We both exclaimed.

Rubbing the sore spot on the back of my head, I replied, “Why would I be mad at you?”

“Well, I did track down your biological grandparents without telling you,” he smiled sheepishly, “and planned a whole road trip around it.”

Lying back down, I said, “I couldn’t be mad at you if I wanted to. I understand why you did it and I understand why you kept it a secret. I was surprised, that’s for sure. But thanks to you, I know my grandparents and my uncle now. I can’t thank you enough for that. They’re my…”

“Family?” He supplied.

“Yeah,” I croaked. “I didn’t know what I was missing out on until I met them.”

Tears leaked from my eyes onto the bare skin of his chest. “Olivia,” he murmured my name, “please, don’t cry.”

“They’re happy tears, Trace. I promise.” I reached up to wipe them away.

“I guess those are okay, then,” he chuckled.

“I’m so happy I have you,” I mumbled as I fought the sleepiness threatening to take over my body.

“I’m the lucky one,” he whispered and it was the last thing I heard before I fell asleep.

“I closed the shop so we’d have all day together,” Margaret announced when I stepped into the kitchen.

“Thank you, grandma,” I smiled widely, excited at the prospect of getting to know her and my grandpa even more today.

She burst into tears, sobbing, “You called me grandma! Doug! Doug! Did you hear that? Olivia called me grandma!”

My eyes widened and I backed into Trace’s chest. His hands snaked out to grab me and keep me from falling. I hadn’t expected me calling her grandma to cause such a reaction. If I’d known, I probably wouldn’t have said it.

“Um…” I paused, unsure of what to say. Did I apologize? Or hug her? Or run the other way? Running seemed like a good option at this point.

“I’m sorry,” she fanned her face. “I didn’t expect you to call me grandma.”

“I don’t have to,” I mumbled, growing red in the face from embarrassment.

She scurried across the room and stopped in front of me, taking my hands in hers. “No, I want you to.”

“O-o-kay,” I stuttered.

“Maggie, stop scaring the poor girl,” Doug chuckled, coming into the kitchen with a steaming mug of coffee.

“I haven’t been this emotional in a long time,” she explained, ripping off a paper towel and using it to dry her tears.