“That was nice.”
He shrugs. “We all have a responsibility to look after the environment. When I can do something that easy, why not?”
I nod.
On the sidewalk as we walk back to his truck I watch for any litter. When I see some kind of wrapper, I focus on it and concentrate. And holy shit! I do it! The trash disappears.
Trace smiles. “Where did it go?”
I give him a toothy smile. “Hopefully into a garbage can.”
He wraps his arm around me and pulls me in for a squeeze. “Good job.”
My chest puffs with pleasure. Another good thing I can do.
After ice cream at Happy Cones, back in his truck, Trace turns to me. “Would you like to come see my house?”
“I would.”
Trace parks on the street, and we enter his yard through a gate in the white picket fence. The yard is overgrown, to put it nicely… There’s no lawn, just plants—maybe weeds?—and a big tree arching over the cracked sidewalk. In the dark, it’s all shifting shadows.
The house is a Victorian style with a nice veranda also overgrown with vines. The steps are in the center, as is the door, and closer I can see peeling gray paint.
Trace slants me a look as he unlocks the front door. “Impressed?”
“Come on. You could snap your fingers and have this place immaculate.”
“I could.”
There’s a light on in the foyer, and he steps inside and holds the door for me. Immediately we’re attacked by a dog. Well, not attacked. Attacked with love, I guess, as she bounces up and down on short little legs in front of Trace, yipping and crying. I watch in amusement as he bends to pet her and calm her down. “Hey, girl. I’m home. I brought someone to meet you.”
Cheddar doesn’t give one yip about me, I see, as she licks Trace’s chin in frantic kisses, then does more bouncing. Finally she calms down, and I extend a hand to her to sniff. “Hello, pretty girl.”
She’s so cute, with a brown-and-white face and big pointy ears and totally friendly, immediately lying on her back in front of me. I laugh and give her a quick tummy rub.
“Belly rubs are her favorite thing,” Trace says. “Or maybe steak bones.”
I straighten and follow Trace farther into the grand entrance, observing the wainscoting, the wood staircase, and all the original dark oak trim. He sets his keys on an antique table, the only furniture in the space. “What do you think?”
“Wow.” I take it all in, then stroll past him into the living room, Cheddar padding behind me. “The floral wallpaper is so you.”
He grins.
“But the floors look amazing.” They’ve been refinished to a perfect mocha color.
He laughs. “Thanks.”
The room holds a big sectional, a coffee table, and a huge TV. I pause in front of the ornate fireplace to admire it. I run my fingertips over the carved oak. “This is amazing.”
The living room is actually part of a huge space that stretches to the back of the house. Trace explains how it used to be a formal dining room and smaller kitchen. I can see the walls still need to be fixed up, but when we walk into the kitchen, I’m in awe. “Holy crap. This is gorgeous.”
“Thanks. It was the first thing that had to be done. The old kitchen was tiny and cramped.”
The cabinets are all white, the appliances stainless steel, and granite counters add some warmth. There are touches of Victorian style though, with cabinets that look like furniture, a big oak range hood, and gold hardware.
“This is beautiful.”
“Thanks.” He’s watching me instead of looking at his kitchen. It makes me tingle everywhere. He opens an oak door. “I added this powder room down here too. Want to see upstairs?”
Heat expands inside me. “Of course.”
He leads me up that grand staircase. “There are four bedrooms up here. Three of them are empty.” We peer into them. He shows me the big bathroom, which is atrocious—fake wood paneling on the bottom half of the walls, an ugly blue color above, and beige vinyl tile floors. “Eeek. Someone redid this.”
“Yeah.” He grimaces. “Back in the seventies, I think. The good news is the original marble tiles are under the vinyl.”
“Why would they put vinyl over it?”
“It’s a mystery. I often ask myself that when we’re renovating houses. Some of the things people do are weird. And this is the main bedroom.” He walks in. It’s at the front of the house so it has four narrow windows in the area I think of as a turret. “I did redecorate this room and the bathroom. I couldn’t handle the red paint on the walls.”
Cheddar jumps onto the big bed using a strategically placed ottoman, and lays down, smiling at us. I grin.
The new wall color, a soft taupe, is calm and understated. The huge bed is a focal point, with a tufted upholstered headboard and snow-white linens. There’s not much more than that in the room. An open door gives me a peek into a big closet.
“Still decorating work to do,” Trace says. “But it’s livable.”
“It’s lovely.” I walk over and sit on the bed, stroking my hand along Cheddar’s back. “I like your house. So many possibilities.”
“There’s a full basement too. I didn’t show you because it’s just full of boxes right now, but it could be another living area.” He sits beside me, slides his hand over my cheek, and kisses me.
My mouth opens to him instinctively. I can’t even describe the feelings his kisses give me—the belly-flipping lust, yes, the heat, the ache, the swelling of my breasts—but also a spinny, drugged feeling, a sense of rightness and belonging. I lean into him, tilting my head, gripping his thigh as our lips and tongues and teeth play and nibble and tease.
He eases me down to my back, leaning over me to devour my mouth, one hand finding my breast, cuddling it in his palm. I arch my back and moan against his lips. “I’ve been thinking about this,” I whisper. “For days.”
“Me too. Hang on.” He lifts his head and nudges Cheddar. “Down, Cheddar.”
With her head hanging, she jumps off the bed. Aw. “Good girl,” I murmur.
Trace skates his hand down to my hip and grips it as his mouth slides over my cheek. “I’ve been thinking about this too. I have so much fun with you.” His teeth graze my jaw. “And also I want to fuck you until you can’t walk.”
A lightning bolt of heat flashes through me. I feel the same about him. Just talking to him is so much fun. Walking in the park. Cleaning up litter. And this… this is more than fun. It’s… everything.
I’m falling in love with this man.
I turn in to him and hook my leg over his. “Do that. Please.”
18
Trace
I don’t hear about Romy’s interview in front of the Board of Elders from her… I hear it from a bunch of people. My phone blows up Friday morning with texts from various people in the coven with connections to the board. Everyone knows I’ve been working with Romy to prepare her for her WED.
What the hell are you teaching that witch?
She’s pissed off the BoE, she’s toast.