Chasing Olivia (Trace + Olivia #2) (29 page)

“You? You’re? Oh my God!” She pulled me off the couch into a hug, swaying us back and forth. My arms wrapped around her, holding her close, and inhaling her scent of lavender and juniper. She patted my cheeks, tears streaming down her face. “Derek’s daughter? I-I-I didn’t know.”

I didn’t know what to say, so I chose to say nothing.

“You’re so beautiful,” she fingered one of my curls. “You look so much like him.” She shook her head, gazing at me in disbelief. “I can’t believe this.”

“Me neither,” I admitted.

“How did you find us?” She asked as we scooted around to make room for her on the couch.

Trace cleared his throat and her gaze flicked his way. Rubbing my back, he said, “I hired a private investigator. I wanted Olivia to know her family.”

“Well, thank you,” Margaret wiped her face with the backs of her hands. “This is very forward of me, but can I ask who your mother is?”

“Her name is Nora. If you knew her, you would’ve known her as Nora Owens.” My eyes flicked away from hers guiltily. If they knew who my mom was, then they would know that she was married to Aaron when she got pregnant.

“I remember her,” Margaret smiled and my stomach plummeted. “She was very sweet but she always seemed so sad. She was married, wasn’t she?”

I nodded reluctantly.

“Aaron, I believe his name was?”

I nodded again and Trace squeezed my hand in reassurance.

“Derek told me about him. He said he wasn’t…” She paused, unsure if she should continue.

“He was a bad man. I know,” I sighed.

“Is your mom still married to him?”

“No,” I answered.

“Good for her,” Margaret smiled.

I swallowed thickly, debating on whether or not to tell them what had
really
happened to Aaron. In the end, though, I decided against it. They didn’t need to know what I went through. I wanted them to look at me, and see me, not the girl who was traumatized by the abusive father figure who’d tried to kill her.

“Are you hungry?” Margaret asked us. Before we could answer, she went on to say, “I’m starving. Why don’t I make us all a nice lunch and we can catch up some more?”

“Sounds good,” I smiled.

“Would you like to help me?” She asked with a wide smile as she stood.

“Of course,” I pushed myself up off the couch to help her. Before I left the living room, I turned to look over my shoulder at Trace, fearing he might be mad that I was leaving him alone. But he was already carrying on a conversation with my grandpa, completely at ease.

The kitchen was bright and cheery with cabinets painted a pale green and a white tile countertop. It needed some updating, but it was cute and well maintained.

“I thought we’d make some sandwiches, nothing fancy,” she opened the refrigerator, laying different items on the countertop. “Bread is over there,” she pointed to a pantry.

I opened the doors and located the loaf of bread.

Margaret was already getting out plates so I undid the twist-tie and counted out the right amount of slices.

“Are you in college?” She asked, trying to make small talk.

“I recently graduated,” I replied, taking the mayonnaise jar from her and untwisting the lid since she was struggling.

“Good for you,” she smiled, clapping her hands together in excitement. “What’s your degree in?”

“English,” I supplied. “I’m going to be a teacher.”

“That’s really wonderful!”

“Really?” I questioned.

She frowned. “You don’t think so?”

“No, it’s not that. I’m excited to be a teacher. Some people tend to be really negative about it though.”

“People…like?” She probed.

“Just people in general,” I shrugged. “My mom’s supportive and so is Trace but…”

“But what?” She asked, spreading the mayonnaise on the bread.

“It’s nothing.” I opened the baggie full of deli meat and started pulling out slices of turkey.

“You can tell me, Olivia. I know you don’t know me that well. But I’m a good listener and I am your grandma,” she smiled kindly.

“Well, I once told Trace that I wanted to write a book. He’s afraid that if I start teaching I’ll never do it.”

“Is he right?” She began laying slices of cheese on the bread.

“Probably,” I admitted.

“If you want to write one, why don’t you?”

“I don’t know what I’d even write about,” I groaned.

“Why do you have to have a story mapped out? Why can’t you sit down and just…do it?”

Trace had said basically the same thing the first time I’d ever mentioned writing a book. He’d brought it up several times over the years, especially in the months before I graduated. I think he was as concerned about me being stuck doing a job I hated, as I was about him.

She looked at me, waiting for me to respond.

“I don’t think I could do that,” I finally said.

“How do you know if you haven’t tried?”

She had me there.

“Maybe one day,” I shrugged as she put the food items away. I helped her set the plates on the table and she grabbed five water bottles.

“Lunch is ready!” She called and the three men joined us.

Trace took the seat across from me, letting my grandma and grandpa sit beside me.

“After we eat, Trace, is going to drive me around in that Camaro,” my grandpa announced proudly. “That’s a nice car.”

Trace chuckled. “I’m glad you approve, sir.”

“Dougie. Not sir. Sir sounds like…well, I better not say what it reminds me of,” my grandpa chortled.

My cheeks flamed and Trace snorted, turning it into a cough to cover himself.

“What do you do for a living, Trace?” My grandma asked.

“I’m currently working as a mechanic, but my grandpa is grooming me to take over the family business,” he replied.

“And what exactly is your family’s business?”

Oh, God. This was getting embarrassing. These people may have been my grandparents, but they didn’t
know
me, and they were already giving my boyfriend the third degree. Husband! Not boyfriend! Hopefully, in a few days, I’d be used to the fact that Trace was now my husband. It still seemed surreal. We’d gotten engaged and then married so quickly that none of it had quite sunk in yet…maybe it never would.

“We make ammunition,” he answered.

“Ammunition,” my grandpa mused. “You hunt?”

“Some. Not as much as I used to,” Trace shrugged.

“I like you,” my grandpa announced, enthusiastically pointing a finger at Trace. Turning to me, he added, “You did good.”

I smiled over at Trace, my body flooding with warmth. “I think so too.”

“So,” Margaret started, “I remember you saying yesterday that you weren’t from here. But you grew up here, right?”

“Yeah,” I tucked a piece of hair behind my ear, “I lived close to here. When it came time to go to college I…I needed to get away.”

“Where are you living now?”

“Virginia,” I answered.

“That far away?” Her eyes widened.

I frowned. “Yes.”

Her lower lip trembled with the threat of tears. “You mean, I’ve only just met you and I’m going to have to say goodbye so soon?”

I nodded sadly.

“Please say you’ll stay with us for a few days. We have a spare room ready for guests and I’d love to get to know you better before you leave,” she pleaded with me.

I looked across at Trace and he nodded.

“We can do that,” I answered. “You know,” I ventured hesitantly, “when we get back home, we’re going to have a wedding ceremony, since we didn’t have a real one here. Our moms want to see us…you know…actually get married. You should come.”

Margaret looked at Douglas and they seemed to communicate silently, a lot like how Trace and I did.

“We’ll try to make it, sweetie,” she assured me. “But we can’t make any promises. It’s a long way.”

“I understand completely. No pressure.”

“We want to,” she added. “We definitely want to. But Doug isn’t in the best shape for traveling by car and we can’t afford plane tickets—”

“Say no more,” Trace interrupted. “I’ll get the tickets. One for you too Dex and your daughter, if that’s okay.”

“I’m sure I can get out of work for a few days,” Dex shrugged. “Ella will be dying to meet you once I tell her,” he told me. “She’ll think you’re her sister.”

“I would love to meet her. I’ve always wanted a little sister,” I confessed.

I smiled at Dex, and then smiled at each of my grandparents. I had only met them today, but already the overwhelming sense of
family
was impossible to ignore. I felt…
loved
. But most importantly, I felt like I belonged.

“And this is the guestroom,” Margaret concluded the tour of the cape cod home. She flicked a light switch and the room was bathed in light. “You’ll use the bathroom I just showed you, since this room doesn’t have one connected. I hope you like it.”

“It’s great. Thank you,” I smiled, stepping into the room and looking around. The walls were painted a periwinkle color and the furniture was all white. A quilt covered the bed and I glided my fingers over the surface. “Did you make this?” I asked her, pointing at the quilt.

“I did,” she smiled.

“It’s beautiful.” I studied the different patterns. Some were floral, other stripes, and even circles. It shouldn’t have gone together, but somehow it worked.

“I have plenty of quilts I made lying around. If you see one you want, let me know, you can have it.”

“Oh, I couldn’t take one of your quilts,” I said, glancing out the window at Trace and my grandpa. Douglas was looking over the Camaro and gesturing wildly with his hands. Trace threw his head back in laughter.

“I insist. I have too many anyway. Doug has threatened to burn some,” she shrugged. “Take as many as you want.”

“If you’re sure,” I turned away from the window to face her.

“I’m positive,” she smiled. “You know,” she shook her head, laughing lightly, “I can’t believe you’re real. This seems like a dream. I’m afraid to go to sleep because I don’t want to wake up and find you gone.”

I stepped towards her and wrapped my arms around her. Her gray hair hung down her back and it was surprisingly soft. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“I’m sorry,” she said when I pulled back as she wiped away more tears. “Today has been really emotional.”

“It has been,” I agreed. I’d probably be crying again too if I hadn’t already cried so much.

“There’s one last room to show you. If you’re interested,” she shrugged.

“Of course,” I smiled. I knew I couldn’t stay here forever and that we’d be leaving in a few days. But while I was here, I wanted to get to know my family.

She crooked a finger and led me back into the upstairs hallway. She opened a door at the end that had a narrow staircase leading up to the attic. “This is where my craft room is. It used to be downstairs, but it started taking over the whole house, so Doug told me I needed to move it somewhere else. I like it up here. It’s quiet. And since Doug is too lazy to climb the stairs I can get a lot done.”

The stairs opened up into a spacious attic. The sides of the room were sloped but you could move freely around the middle of the room. There were lots of storage organizers and a desk with paper spread across the top.

“I guess I’ll have time to show you how to make those stars,” she laughed, bumping my shoulder lightly like we were friends.

“I guess so.”

“You know, they call them lucky stars,” she mused.

“I need all the luck I can get,” I joked.

“Come here,” she led me to the desk where there were pre-cut strips of paper. “Sit down,” she insisted, pulling out a chair.

I did as she said and listened intently as she described the process of making the small paper stars. It didn’t seem too difficult, but knowing me it would be impossible.

After giving me the instructions, she grabbed a strip of paper and I watched as she turned it into a star.

“Now you try,” she handed me a piece of blue paper.

I made the knot and began to do the folds. When I finished, I glared at the monstrosity I had created.

“Mine looks nothing like a star,” I grumbled.

“Try again,” she coaxed. “It’s not that difficult once you get the hang of it.”

I tried again, watching her carefully as she folded her own small star. My second attempt was far better than my first, but still not perfect.

“See,” she smiled, “you’ve almost got it.”

Almost wasn’t good enough.

Turns out, third time was the charm.

“Beautiful,” Margaret clapped her hands together excitedly like I was a child that accomplished something mesmerizing.

She grabbed a piece of pink paper and began making another star. “You know,” she tapped her finger against the paper, “you can write a message on the paper before you turn it into a star.”

“Like what?”

“Anything you want,” she shrugged, pinching the points of the star. “Usually it’s exchanged between couples,” she winked and I blushed. “I have something I’d like to give you,” she said softly, moving away from the desk and to a far corner of the room. She stood on her tiptoes, reaching for something on the top shelf of a large bookcase. She cradled a large mason jar in her hands. It was filled to the top with brightly colored origami stars. “Here,” she held it out for me to take. “I want you to have this.”