Was it possible…
She tamped down the questions as Olivia popped up beside her, a glimmer of mischief in her beautiful eyes.
“I saw that,” she whispered, leaning into Gracie.
“Saw what?” she replied, biting back a laugh. “That little kid who almost touched the spun sugar bridge? Thank you for saving the day.”
Olivia giggled and tugged at the leash that held her border collie. “Just promise me one thing, Miss Gracie.”
Gracie narrowed her eyes. “You scare me when you say that, Olivia.”
She trilled another laugh. “When we go to see Benny and Red skate? You’ll sit right where I put you.”
Just then, Marshall sidled up to them. “What are you two scheming about?” he asked with a teasing smile.
“None of your beeswax,” Olivia quipped, pulling her red cap over her eyes. “Oh, there’s another dangerous five-year-old, ready to smash Sweet ‘n’ Clean!” She scampered over to the little boy like she was the museum curator and police officer all in one.
“I heard a rumor,” Marshall said, leaning just close enough to torment Gracie when she met his impossibly dark gaze. “And it’s not good.”
“Another bakery coming to town?”
“Gah, I hope not,” he said, sounding sincere. “I heard we’re in the running to win the Gingerbread House contest.”
“Oh, we’ll win,” she said confidently. “We are the parents of Olivia Hampton and Benedict McBride, neither of whom knows the meaning of the word lose.”
She thought he’d laugh, but his expression grew somewhat serious as he considered what she said. Was it the kids or losing or…what?
“So, what’s not good about winning the contest?” she asked.
“There’s only one plaque,” he said. “So, who’ll get it?”
She felt a smile lift her lips, not because of the conversation but just…being near him. He had such a glow about him, such adeep light that drew her in. He made her feel good and hopeful just by existing.
How did he do that?
She had no idea, but she liked it. She liked him.
“I guess we’ll share plaque custody,” she said. “Like Benny and Olivia were supposed to do with the dog trophy that I understand has never left Olivia’s bedroom.”
He tsked. “She’s greedy with her prizes.”
“We can draw straws,” she suggested. “Or set up a schedule.”
“Or arm wrestle.”
She laughed. “Like I have a shot against you, Number Twenty-Seven.”
His eyes flickered with surprise at the admission that she’d gone to the trouble to look up his old jersey number. Oh, boy. So busted.
“Andthereit is,” he said, dipping a millimeter closer.
“There’s…what?” A truth bomb?
“That beautiful Gracie McBride blush that I never get tired of seeing.”
She huffed out a half-laugh, half-grunt, touching her gloved hands to her cheeks. “Even in thirty degrees, my cheeks give me away.”
“I love it,” he said, which only deepened the blush more. “It’s like a little window into your thoughts and feelings.”
