Trace + Olivia Series Boxed Set (86 page)

“Ow!” I jumped, grabbing my neck. “That hurt!” I smacked his solid muscular chest. “Way to ruin the moment.”

“Oh, baby,” he gazed at me with lust-filled green eyes, “the moment isn’t over. It’s only beginning.”

With that, he tossed me over his shoulder once more and carried me into the house and into the bedroom.

I guessed I’d get the grand tour later … and I was perfectly okay with that.

I padded into the state-of-the-art kitchen and opened the refrigerator doors. My mouth dropped open as I marveled at all the food. It was fully stocked with anything you could possibly want.

“Trace!” I called. “Are you hungry?”

“Um, yeah,” he called back from the laundry room, “you helped me work up quite the appetite, woman.”

“I don’t know what to make,” I responded.

A moment later he stepped into the kitchen with a puzzled expression. “Is the fridge not stocked? It’s supposed to be.”

“Oh, it is,” I assured him. “There’s a lot to choose from.”

He peered into the refrigerator and pointed to a packet of hotdogs. “I’ll grill those. Why don’t you make some mac n’ cheese?”

“Sure, I can do that … do you mind telling me where everything is?” I motioned to the large kitchen. “If you leave me on my own it might take me a while.”

He chuckled, striding across the room and opening a door. “Macaroni will be in here and—” he opened a cabinet and pulled out a small pot, “—here’s this. Think you can find the sink?”

“You’re such an ass!” While my words weren’t very nice, I couldn’t keep the laugh from my voice.

Chuckling, he said, “You know you love me. I’ll finish with the laundry and start the grill.”

I stared at the industrial grade stovetop, wondering why anyone needed something so fancy in a vacation home. In fact, everything in this kitchen was a chef’s dream.

Shaking my head, I grabbed the pot and filled it with hot water, placing it on the stovetop I turned the knob and the blue flames sparked to life.

Trace came back a few minutes later and grabbed an apron, tying it around his body.

“Man Bib?” I read the slogan printed on the apron in red letters. “Really, Trace?” I arched a brow, trying not to snicker at the ridiculous piece of fabric.

“Yes, really. I thought I’d go for the less offensive one. There’s another one,” he pointed to the back of the pantry door where more aprons hung, “that says, ‘“It’s all fun and games until someone burns their wiener’ … On second thought,” he removed the apron he’d put on, “that one is much more appropriate.”

Grinning, he grabbed the hotdogs, a plate and fork, and sauntered outside onto the deck.

The water started boiling and I dumped the macaroni noodles into it. I realized that I had a problem in the fact that I hadn’t asked Trace where bowls were.

I looked around at all the cabinets, knowing it would take a while to find them.

By the time I found a large enough bowl to stir the macaroni in, it was ready.

Luckily, in my search for a bowl I’d also found a strainer.

I drained the water and dumped the noodles in the bowl, adding butter, the powdered cheese, and a splash of milk. It took another minute, but I found a spoon to stir it with.

When it was ready, I carried the bowl outside, along with forks, and placed it on the table.

Trace was already taking the hotdogs off the grill. With a smile, he set them on the table and headed inside. He returned with two plates, hotdog buns, as well as ketchup and mustard.

The grill was part of an outdoor kitchen, complete with a refrigerator, which Trace grabbed two bottles of water from.

“Eat up,” he smirked, pulling out a chair to sit down.

“You don’t need to be so bossy,” I smiled, fixing my hotdog, and sliding the ketchup bottle over to him.

“Oh,” he eyed me, “I think you like it when I get bossy.”

“Puh-lease,” I rolled my eyes, scooping some macaroni onto my plate.

He propped his elbows on the table, raising a dark brow as he watched me closely. “What?” I asked when he continued to stare. “Is there something on my face? My hair?” I looked down to see if I dropped something on myself, it really wouldn’t surprise me, but there was nothing there.

“No,” he murmured, “just looking at my wife.” A slow smile spread across his face and he repeated, “My wife. You have no idea how much I love the sound of that.”

“I hope you still like the sound of it ten years from now,” I laughed, spearing some macaroni. For some reason, I’d always hated eating it with a spoon.

“Ten. Twenty. Fifty years from now, it doesn’t matter,” he spread his arms wide. “I will always be happy to call you my wife.”

“Good.”

“Will you be happy to call me your husband that many years from now?”

“Do you even need to ask?” I raised a brow.

He chuckled, scratching his chin. “No, I guess not. How could you ever get sick of me? I’m the coolest person ever.”

By the time we finished eating and cleaned up, Trace had given me very detailed reasons why he was the ‘coolest person ever,’ some of which made me blush.

After everything was cleaned up, and darkness was beginning to fall, I found myself mesmerized by all the fireflies in the yard.

I had never seen so many at one time before and I watched in awe as their lights blinked on and off, illuminating the sky like little fireworks.

“They’re beautiful,” I breathed.

“That’s one of my favorite things about this place.” Trace stood beside me, his hands in his jeans pockets. “When I’m here, it’s like I’m a part of nature. The animals aren’t scared of us and they’re free to roam around undisturbed. Do you know,” he turned to me, “one time I was standing right here,” he pointed to the spot where he stood on the deck, “and a bear walked right by, stopped and looked at me, then went on its way.”

“A bear?” I squeaked, looking around in fright. “There are bears in these woods?”

He chuckled, crossing his arms over his chest. “Of course there are bears. Those are woods, and that’s typically where they live.”

“Still,” I shuddered, “I don’t want to encounter a bear.”

“Live a little,” he reached for my hand, guiding me down the deck steps.

“Where are we going? You’re not going to dunk me in the ocean again are you?” I tried to pry my hand from his.

“No,” he chuckled. “Nothing like that.”

He stopped in the middle of the yard, and surrounded by all the fireflies and the chirping of the crickets, he pulled me against him and began to sway us to the music of nature.

I closed my eyes and laid my head against his chest, breathing in the moment.

The salty ocean air swirled around us, and the fireflies blinked cheerily.

I smiled to myself as his warmth soaked into me and I knew that I’d be enjoying many more moments like this for the rest of my life.

“And this is the guestroom,” Margaret concluded the tour of the cape cod home. She flicked a light switch and the room was bathed in light. “You’ll use the bathroom I just showed you, since this room doesn’t have one connected. I hope you like it.”

“It’s great. Thank you,” I smiled, stepping into the room and looking around. The walls were painted a periwinkle color and the furniture was all white. A quilt covered the bed and I glided my fingers over the surface. “Did you make this?” I asked her, pointing at the quilt.

“I did,” she smiled.

“It’s beautiful.” I studied the different patterns. Some were floral, other stripes, and even circles. It shouldn’t have gone together, but somehow it worked.

“I have plenty of quilts I made lying around. If you see one you want, let me know, you can have it.”

“Oh, I couldn’t take one of your quilts,” I said, glancing out the window at Trace and my grandpa. Douglas was looking over the Camaro and gesturing wildly with his hands. Trace threw his head back in laughter.

“I insist. I have too many anyway. Doug has threatened to burn some,” she shrugged. “Take as many as you want.”

“If you’re sure,” I turned away from the window to face her.

“I’m positive,” she smiled. “You know,” she shook her head, laughing lightly, “I can’t believe you’re real. This seems like a dream. I’m afraid to go to sleep because I don’t want to wake up and find you gone.”

I stepped towards her and wrapped my arms around her. Her gray hair hung down her back and it was surprisingly soft. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“I’m sorry,” she said when I pulled back as she wiped away more tears. “Today has been really emotional.”

“It has been,” I agreed. I’d probably be crying again too if I hadn’t already cried so much.

“There’s one last room to show you. If you’re interested,” she shrugged.

“Of course,” I smiled. I knew I couldn’t stay here forever and that we’d be leaving in a few days. But while I was here, I wanted to get to know my family.

She crooked a finger and led me back into the upstairs hallway. She opened a door at the end that had a narrow staircase leading up to the attic. “This is where my craft room is. It used to be downstairs, but it started taking over the whole house, so Doug told me I needed to move it somewhere else. I like it up here. It’s quiet. And since Doug is too lazy to climb the stairs I can get a lot done.”

The stairs opened up into a spacious attic. The sides of the room were sloped but you could move freely around the middle of the room. There were lots of storage organizers and a desk with paper spread across the top.

“I guess I’ll have time to show you how to make those stars,” she laughed, bumping my shoulder lightly like we were friends.

“I guess so.”

“You know, they call them lucky stars,” she mused.

“I need all the luck I can get,” I joked.

“Come here,” she led me to the desk where there were pre-cut strips of paper. “Sit down,” she insisted, pulling out a chair.

I did as she said and listened intently as she described the process of making the small paper stars. It didn’t seem too difficult, but knowing me it would be impossible.

After giving me the instructions, she grabbed a strip of paper and I watched as she turned it into a star.

“Now you try,” she handed me a piece of blue paper.

I made the knot and began to do the folds. When I finished, I glared at the monstrosity I had created.

“Mine looks nothing like a star,” I grumbled.

“Try again,” she coaxed. “It’s not that difficult once you get the hang of it.”

I tried again, watching her carefully as she folded her own small star. My second attempt was far better than my first, but still not perfect.

“See,” she smiled, “you’ve almost got it.”

Almost wasn’t good enough.

Turns out, third time was the charm.

“Beautiful,” Margaret clapped her hands together excitedly like I was a child that accomplished something mesmerizing.

She grabbed a piece of pink paper and began making another star. “You know,” she tapped her finger against the paper, “you can write a message on the paper before you turn it into a star.”

“Like what?”

“Anything you want,” she shrugged, pinching the points of the star. “Usually it’s exchanged between couples,” she winked and I blushed. “I have something I’d like to give you,” she said softly, moving away from the desk and to a far corner of the room. She stood on her tiptoes, reaching for something on the top shelf of a large bookcase. She cradled a large mason jar in her hands. It was filled to the top with brightly colored origami stars. “Here,” she held it out for me to take. “I want you to have this.”

“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.”