Page 32 of The Fangirl and the Grump

My chest hollows out as he closes the door and jogs around to the driver’s side. Carter never helped me into or out of a vehicle. And I kind of love that Trace did.

It’s nice.

“So, where are we going?” I ask as he starts the truck and shifts into reverse.

“It’s a surprise,” he replies.

“You can’t even give me a hint?”

He keeps his smiling lips firmly closed as he shakes his head, a steel vault. Giving up, because who doesn’t like surprises, I lean back in my seat to enjoy the ride. Soft country music plays through the truck’s speakers, and the sun actually peeks through a gap in the clouds, warming my skin through the window.

As Trace slows the vehicle and turns onto a long drive, I sit up, instantly alert. I recognize this place. My head snaps to the left, and I stare at Trace’s profile.

“Are we going to Aria’s house?”

Trace just smiles, and I face forward as the two-story structure comes into view. He slows the truck to a stop, then looks at me as he shifts the transmission into park. I meet his gaze and cock my head.

“I’ve been here. I mean, the tour bus stopped here, and I got some pictures. We couldn’t go inside, though. The owner doesn’t allow tourists to walk through it.”

Trace’s smile widens as he pulls his keys from the ignition, rifles through them, then holds up a silver house key, saying, “Well, the owner can make exceptions when he wants to.”

My eyes widen and zip up to meet his, which are dancing with humor. “You own Aria’s house?”

He huffs out a breath and shakes his head. “Aria is a fictional character in a movie that was filmed here. I ownmyhouse. It’s where Willow and I grew up, and our grandfather signed a deal with the producers to film here. The three of us moved into the inn during filming, but yeah, it’s mine. Grandpa left it to me when he passed.”

I remain still as I process that information. Trace and Willow grew up inAria’shouse. Or Aria lived in Trace and Willow’s house. Whatever. Either way, it’s still verycool.

“Do you want to see the inside, or not?” Trace asks with an arched brow when the silence drags on for a beat too long.

I snap into action, my hand snaking out to snatch the keyring from his hand. Tugging at the door handle, I pop it open and hop down, Trace’s laughter following me out. I hear his own door slam shut as I race up the front steps, then I pause and take a breath, letting Trace catch up before I dart inside like some kind of lunatic.

Reaching out to my right, I run my fingertips over the banister where Lucas and Aria kissed for the first time. I look over at Trace as he steps up beside me, and he motions for me to do the honors. Smiling brightly, I step forward and push the key into the lock. Turning it, the satisfying sound of the lock disengaging reverberates in my chest.

I look back over at Trace, and he gives me an encouraging nod. Holding my breath, I turn the knob and push open the door before stepping inside.

Sweet nostalgia coats my skin as I look around at the familiar space. “It looks exactly like it did in the movies.”

Trace flips on a light switch and closes the door behind us before pushing some buttons on a beeping alarm pad on the wall. “Yeah, they kept all the furnishings the same. The director liked the feel of the place. The only thing they changed was Willow’s bedroom. They put in more expensive antique furniture and decorated it to appeal to the mass audience. The producers let Willow keep it all when they were done, so she didn’t mind.”

“Can we go see?” I ask, bouncing on the balls of my feet.

“Of course,” Trace says with a nod.

Letting out a high-pitched squeal, I race up the stairs. I head unerringly for the right room, and when I step inside, I’m transported to another world.Aria’sworld. Trailing my fingertips over the dresser, then the matching night stand, I sit on the edge of the bed and gaze around. This really is awesome.

There’s movement in the doorway, and I see Trace standing there, one shoulder pressed against the door jamb as he crosses his ankles. He’s watching me with a shadow of a smile on his face, and I can’t help but grin back at him.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“So, if this place is yours, why don’t you live here?” I ask in an attempt to break the weird tension in the room.

The tour guide told us the place has been empty for years, so I know he doesn’t stay here. And Willow has her own place in town.

“My apartment in town is more convenient,” he says, then lowers his brows. “And I don’t have a tour bus full of CursedCubs on my front lawn twice a day.”

I can understand that, especially given his obvious aversion to all things Cursed.

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