Page 126 of Finding Olivia (Trace + Olivia 1)

“I’ll see you later…or maybe not,” she winked.

I shook my head. “Thank you again for the coat and-”

“You’re welcome, Livie,” she grinned. “I’m happy you love it so much.” She pulled me into a quick hug.

I stepped outside and she closed the garage door behind me.

Trace was pulling into the driveway and I scurried inside his car before the cold penetrated my coat.

“Excited to see me?” He grinned crookedly at my speedy entrance.

“I didn’t want to get cold,” I laughed.

“Aw,” he put a hand to his chest, “and here I thought you were excited to see me. I’m hurt.”

“Hmm,” I leaned over and kissed his stubbled cheek, “how can I make it up to you?” I whispered.

His eyes met mine and the green had darkened to a mossy gray color. “I’m sure I can think of a few different ways.”

“That sounds…” I paused, messing with him. “Exciting.”

“Oh, it is,” he grinned and backed out of the driveway.

“Where are we going?” I asked, looking at the snow-covered lawns.

“My place,” he answered. “Unless you don’t-”

“No, no, that’s fine,” I interjected.

“Good,” he smiled and adjusted his grip on the steering wheel.

???

Christmas music played softly in the background, and the smell of hot chocolate permeated the air, along with the scent of freshly baked snickerdoodle cookies. Not only could Trace cook, but he could bake as well. Was there anything he couldn’t do?

“How many marshmallows do you want?” He asked from the kitchen.

I sat on the couch and turned so I could watch him. “Are they mini’s?”

“No, the big ones,” he looked up at me, and held the bag aloft, shaking it for emphasis.

“Two, then,” I smiled.

He fixed the hot chocolate in coffee mugs, and added the marshmallows, then carefully carried them to where I was. He placed them on the coffee table and winced. “They’re a little too hot.”

Before he sat down, he went back to the kitchen, to grab the plate of cookies.

He held the plate out to me and I took one of the cookies. It was cooked to perfection, and every bite was chewy, just the way I liked them.

“You’re Betty Crocker,” I laughed.

“It’s not like I made them from scratch or anything,” he defended, sitting down beside me so that the sides of our legs touched. “It’s not that difficult to heat up the oven and stick em’ in. You just have to watch them so they don’t burn.”

“They’re delicious,” I finished off the first and reached for a second.

“I’m glad you like them, but you haven’t tried my hot chocolate yet. Now, that I do make from scratch,” he grinned, a cookie crumb sitting on the corner of his mouth.

I couldn’t help myself. I leaned over and licked it away.

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