I go from one decorated tree to another inside the gift shop that came with the skating rink.
It’s unbelievable that Trace paid for it on his own and without any prodding. Where did he get the idea from? I’ve never heard of a traveling skating rink with its own gift shop.
Smiling, I check out the ornaments on each tree. There’s a pink tree with all white ornaments. It’d be like eating cotton candy while making an angel in the snow. There’s a tree sprayed with white foam to look like snow. The theme of this tree is bears. All sorts of bears hang from the limbs—pandas, polar bears, black bears, and a red bear.
I move to the next tree. It’s taller than the rest. This one is covered with red and white ribbons. Hanging from the limbs are figurines of Santa and Mrs. Claus. They’re in different poses. Smiling, I run my fingers over ones that make me happy—Santa kissing Mrs. Claus, Santa hugging Mrs. Claus from behind, Santa and Mrs. Claus riding on a sleigh. For that one, she’s bundled up in a red jacket with white down.
I take in what I’m wearing with a smile. We stopped by a sporting goods store in the town center before heading to the tree farm. Trace bought me a sherpa-lined waterproof jacket and waterproof black pants. He said it’s what skiers and snowboarders wear. All black.
How did he know I like to wear all black? I offered to pay him back for the clothes. I didn’t have enough in my account. With Shay, Leigh, and me off for winter break, there are more hours to split among us, and my next check should cover them, but Trace said the clothes are my early Christmas gift.
The thought has me smiling wider, and I have this urge to clasp my hands over my heart and talk to my reflection in the shop’s window with a smile on my face like Drew Barrymore’s character, Julia, did when she thought about being with the man she loved rather than the man she was going to marry in the movie The Wedding Singer.
I look for Trace among the shoppers. Church must’ve let out. Everyone looks great dressed in their Sunday best. I recognize some of the kids from school. I see Leigh and Seven coming out of a diner. She must’ve felt me staring. She looks up from ducking her head and laughing at what Seven said and sees me in the window. Leigh waves. I wave back. Seven tips his chin at me, and I give him the thumbs-up sign.
Leigh looks over her shoulder and smiles before all her attention is on Seven. He opens his truck door for her, and soon, they are driving off.
Where is Trace? It sure is taking him a while to get our drinks. He’s getting me a white chocolate mocha from Sweet Treats Two in the middle of the town center. The skating rink is closer to the main road.
A gust of wind comes through the doors as more people enter the gift shop. I pull my black beanie, with Sassy in silver glitter on the front, over my ears. It’s another gift from Trace.
It’s cold, but my body gets warm every time I think about him.
After the nice man cut down the tree and put it through one of those machines that cover it with a net, Trace picked it up with barely any effort and put our first Christmas tree in the back of his truck.
The short drive to the grocery store was nice. Trace put on Christmas music from his playlists and belted out the lyrics. I joined him, singing here and there, embarrassed.
Smiling, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel, Trace encouraged me, saying I have the voice of an angel. My voice was soft but picked up on the chorus. When his voice purposely faded until it was only me singing, and he listened with this quiet awe before he looked at me with the same awe, I . . . A sigh of contentment slipped from my mouth.
No one has ever looked at me with wonderment.
I’ll always cherish the memory of that happy ride in his pickup truck with the windows down, us singing at the top of our lungs with a bushy tree in the bed.
My next favorite memory of today—and we still have tonight—is when we went to the grocery store to buy ingredients for his version of mushrooms and eggplant with white sauce.
He picked out these eggplants and was absolutely sexy with them in his hands, his expression quizzical. Trace asked me which one I would like him to cook, the darker purple eggplant or the bigger one, holding them close to his crotch.
The smirk on that boy’s face, and how his gaze darkened when I couldn’t look away from the sizeable bulge under his pants. I blushed, and then he laughed and declared we’re going with the darker one. I begged to differ, saying we should go with the bigger eggplant, that I’m extra hungry from the calories we burned searching for the perfect tree.
Trace ran with my words and made them into something dirty, saying in a husky voice near my ear, “I’ll show you hungry. I’ll show you big.”
My face heats thinking about how he trailed his knuckle along my bottom lip and how his gaze hung on my mouth. My mouth parted. My breath came out in spurts. My body swayed to his. Trace broke the spell, collaring me and giving me what he called a knuckle sandwich in the produce section.
Surprised, laughter shot out of me. I snorted. He whooped with laughter. I tried pushing him off me, and my stomach hurt from laughing. I was happy that he was just as happy.
Trace mocked stumbling backward. I know for a fact I’m not that strong. I called him out on it. He kissed me on top of my head and let me go so quickly I almost fell on my butt. As I recovered, he put his fists up in front of his face, hopped back and forth, and dared me to come and get him.
That butt!
He was so adorable that I couldn’t resist. I jabbed at him, but he was fast on his feet. Taking advantage of how sloppy my jab was, he grabbed me by the waist and swung me around. My squeals of laughter echoed in the store, and people side-eyed us like we were crazy. Or they smiled.
I’ve never been so happy. Trace Saints makes me happy. Twirling my hair, I go from tree to tree in search of the perfect ornament and wait for Trace in the shop as he instructed me to do, rather than searching for him.
What is taking him so long?
What other knickknacks are there in this little store? I haven’t explored all of it yet, sticking by the door and the windows, looking out for Trace. I bypass the decorated trees. Why pick out an ornament when Trace isn’t here? He said we’d do it together.
Humming to the Christmas music, my steps light, I mosey to the back. There are shelves with knitted hats, gloves, and scarves, figurines, and snow globes. I pick up each one and shake it until I have a line of snow globes with snow falling inside the glass. I move on to the next rack of shelves and find the perfect gift for Trace.
