Trace + Olivia Series Boxed Set (61 page)

“Uh huh.”

“Come on, we need to go home and change first. Slacks and a button down are so not my thing,” he plucked at the tight shirt.

“Maybe if they came in plaid you’d like them better,” I joked.

“I’d definitely like them better then,” he chuckled, reaching for my hand.

We made the trek back to his car, trying to avoid the other families still dotted around campus chatting and taking pictures.

“So,” I started, “are you going to let me in on this
plan
of yours?”

“Not a chance,” he winked.

“Ugh,” I groaned. “Not even a hint?”

“Nope,” he shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips.

“Will I like it?”

“I hope so,” he chuckled. “Otherwise … well …”

“Well what?”

“I can’t say,” he opened the passenger car door for me.

I placed my diploma and cap in my lap as I buckled the seatbelt.

As soon as Trace was in the car I asked, “Is this plan of yours going to embarrass the crap out of me?”

“I hope not,” he laughed, “but you are easily embarrassed.”

Once at the apartment I changed into jean shorts, a tank top, and a purple plaid shirt I’d recently bought for myself because I knew Trace would like it. I rolled the sleeves up to my elbows and tried to make my hair look halfway decent.

“I approve,” Trace said from behind me.

Turning, I laughed. “I thought you would,” I plucked at the bottom of my shirt.

“I still think you look better in my shirts though,” he winked, pulling on a white wife-beater. He’d switched from slacks to a pair of ratty jeans. “Ready?”

I nodded, slipping on a pair of Converse.

He grabbed a cooler, adding drinks and sandwiches he’d made earlier. I’d noticed him making them this morning but I’d been too busy worrying about graduation to ask him about them. He slung the cooler strap over his shoulder, grabbed a soft blanket from the closet, and then picked up his guitar case.

I raised a brow in question.

“Still not telling,” he smirked.

“Of course not,” I sighed, holding my hand out to take the blanket from him and open the door.

He jogged down the steps while I locked the apartment door.

“Let’s go in the Camaro,” he called.

“Sure,” I shrugged. I loved Trace’s classic ‘69 Camaro. It may have been old, but it was extremely well taken care of.

I put the blanket on the back seat, along with his guitar case and the cooler.

I paid careful attention to the direction he was heading, hoping it would give me some kind of clue as to our destination.

“Are we heading back to the University?” I asked after a minute.

“No,” he chuckled, “but close.”

“Tell me,” I pleaded.

“Not happening, woman. Patience,” he rubbed his hand over his stubbled jaw.

“Wait … are we going to the park?”

“Ding, ding, ding! We have a winner!” He grinned.

He pulled into the gravel parking lot a few minutes later. We gathered our stuff, and he took my hand, leading me in the direction he wanted to go.

A huge smile spread across my face when I spotted the picnic table we’d sat on more than two years ago when I told him about my Live List. It had been hard for me to tell him about it, but even then I’d known I could trust Trace.

He didn’t stop at the table like I thought he was going to.

Instead, he found a shady spot under a nearby tree. He dropped the cooler on the ground and gently laid his guitar down as well. He took the blanket from my hands and spread it on the ground.

“Sit,” he commanded, pointing.

“Okay, bossy pants,” I laughed, but did as he said.

He dropped down beside me and opened the cooler. He handed me a bottle of sweet tea and a packet of sugar, “Just in case,” he chuckled.

He pulled out a bottle of water for himself and got out the sandwiches.

“So, this is your special plan?” I asked, unwrapping the sandwich and taking a huge bite. Not very ladylike, but I was starving, so screw manners.

“Oh, how you doubt me. The specialness hasn’t even begun yet,” he grinned mischievously. Uh oh.

“If you’re not trying to woo me with your mad sandwich making skills, what are you up to?” I questioned, finishing my sandwich. I hoped he had another hiding in there. I was still hungry.

Sure enough, he tossed me a second sandwich.

“I love you,” I leaned over and kissed his cheek before starting my second sandwich.

He chuckled. “Do you love me or my sandwiches? Because right about now I’m feeling a little jealous of the turkey sandwich.” I blushed, suddenly not wanting to finish it. Only Trace could make eating a sandwich sound sexual. “I do make a pretty good sandwich, which shouldn’t surprise you, because I’m awesome at everything I do.”

I sighed. “Sometimes, I think you talk just because you love the sound of your own voice.”

He bumped my shoulder with his. “My voice is amazing. I can’t help it if I think everyone should be gifted with listening to the sound of it.”

I shook my head, but couldn’t help laughing.

I finished eating and put my trash in the cooler.

We lay back on the blanket, looking up at the blue sky through the tree branches. I curled against his side, resting my head on his shoulder.

“This is nice,” I murmured.

“It gets better,” he whispered, turning his head towards me. His lips were so close that I couldn’t resist closing the distance and kissing him. When I moved back, his eyes were closed, and there was a small smile on his lips.

“What was that for?” He asked, slowly opening his eyes.

“Because I can,” I answered.

He rolled over so he was on top of me, holding his weight above me in a push-up position. “And why can you?”

“Because you’re mine,” I murmured.

“And you’re mine,” he flexed his arms and lowered himself, pressing his lips against mine. My eyes fluttered closed and an embarrassing breathy gasp escaped from me. He nipped my lower lip lightly with his teeth and my fingers tangled in his hair. He pulled away, running his nose along my collarbone and leaving a trail of small kisses.

He gazed down at me with lust filled green eyes and my whole body responded to that look. My heart beat faster, my breath faltered, and my body arched up, desperate to meet and connect with his.

But we were in public and that was a
huge
mood killer … at least for me.

“Does it get better than that?” My words were barely audible. Trace had that affect on me, stealing my thoughts, my breath, and now my voice.

“Better,” he grinned, climbing off of me. He unzipped his guitar case and grabbed a pick. I sat up, crossing my legs under me.

He closed his eyes, and his whole body shuddered, like he was scared of what he was about to do.

Then he began to play, and when he sang, tears sprung to my eyes.

“‘105 is the number that comes to my head when I think of all the years I wanna be with you. Wake up every morning with you in my bed, that’s precisely what I plan to do.’”

He stared into my eyes as he sang his slowed down version of Jason Derulo’s song, Marry Me.

“‘We’ll forever be in love, so there ain’t no need to rush. But one day, I won’t be able to ask you loud enough. I’ll say will you marry me. I swear that I will mean it. I’ll say will you marry me. How many girls in the world can make me feel like this? Baby, I don’t ever plan to find out. The more I look, the more I find the reasons why you’re the love of my life.’”

The look in his eyes of complete and total love had me sobbing. People in the park were beginning to stare at us, but I didn’t care. I dabbed at my eyes, biting my lip to quiet my cries. I didn’t want to miss a moment of this.

“‘You know one of these days when I get my money right, buy you everything, and show you all the finer things in life. We’ll forever be in love, so there ain’t no need to rush. But one day, I won’t be able to ask you loud enough. I’ll say will you marry me. I swear that I will mean it. I’ll say will you marry me.’” The last lyric ended in a whisper as he put his guitar to the side and pulled a small black box out of his pocket. He bent down on one knee in front of me and opened the box. My eyes widened.

“Olivia, that day is today, will you marry me?” After the words left his mouth he bit his lip, and there was fear in his eyes. I didn’t know how that crazy man could ever think I’d say no.

Words failed me. I brushed my tears away and did what any logical person would do in my situation. I tackle-hugged him.

“Whoa,” he cried, catching me as we fell in the grass.

I brushed my lips lightly over his before kissing him deeply. “Yes,” I breathed in-between kisses. He kissed me fiercely, grabbing me by the neck with one hand and by the waist with the other, pressing me into him. His tongue brushed against my lips and my mouth opened in response.

Clapping echoed around us.

Heat infused my cheeks and I pushed myself off his chest. He sat up, cradling me in his lap.

“I believe this belongs to you,” he grabbed the fallen jewelry box. He pulled the ring out of the box and slipped it on my finger. It was a beautiful ring, with three emerald cut diamonds. I stared down at it in awe.

“Congratulations!” Someone called from the crowd that had formed around us.

“I’m putting this on YouTube,” another said.

“Thanks,” Trace waved, chuckling.

I buried my face in his neck, inhaling his manly scent.

The crowd gradually disappeared and we were left relatively alone in the park.

“That was—” I floundered for words. “Beautiful.”

He kissed my forehead and tucked a stray curl behind my ear. “I’m glad you think so.”

“You’re amazing,” I whispered, kissing his jaw.

“I thought we’d already established that,” he chuckled.

“Did we really just get engaged?” I asked him. I honestly was still in disbelief that the last five minutes of my life had actually happened.

“Mhmm,” he murmured, “we did.”

“It feels like a dream,” I breathed.

“I have been told that I look like I could only exist in a dream.”

I smacked his shoulder. “Don’t ruin my moment with your cocky remarks.”

He chuckled, his chest rumbling beneath my ear. “Sorry, I’ll keep quiet.”

I reached up, cupping his jaw. “I love you, cocky remarks and all.”

“Glad to hear it,” he smiled, “and I love you too, Olivia. So much.”

I snuggled closer to his body. Between the warm temperature of his skin and sun shining down on us, I was getting hot, but I refused to move.

“Was everyone in on this?” I asked, running my finger along the skin just above his shirt.

“Yeah,” he grabbed my hands, entwining our fingers together.

“I don’t know how you managed to keep them quiet. They’re not exactly the most secretive bunch,” I laughed.

“It was difficult,” he shrugged. “Avery almost spilled the beans.”

“Was this what she was talking about that night?”

“Mhmm,” he nodded. “I thought I was going to have to tape her mouth closed. The little blabbermouth. I wanted you to be surprised, and you were, weren’t you?”

“Very. I honestly didn’t have a clue,” I whispered.

I was still in shock that I was actually
engaged
. Not that I didn’t love Trace with all my heart, but marriage had been the furthest thing from my mind. I’d been so focused on getting better for so long, then graduating and finding a teaching position, that I’d sort of put any thoughts of our future on the backburner. But this felt
right.
Everything with Trace felt right, he completed me in every possible way.

We stayed in the park, watching the sunset, before we finally gathered our stuff and left.

As Trace held my hand, he kept twisting the diamond ring around on my finger.

“You like that there, don’t you?” I smiled.

He opened the car door for me and as I slid inside he peered down at me, crossing his arms across the top of the door.

“Very much. Even more than your tattoo,” he winked.

I shook my head, laughing. “That surprises me.”

“It shouldn’t.”

We were quiet on the drive back to the apartment, reveling in this new step in our lives together.

When the door closed behind us, he pushed me against it and kissed me deeply, before taking me to bed and showing me exactly how much he loved me.

The next morning my muscles were sore, but I was so deliriously happy that I didn’t care.

I stretched my arms above my head, light filtered in from the open curtains, making the diamond on my ring finger sparkle. A smile spread across my face as I gazed at it.

That smile turned to a frown though when I looked at the clock.

“Crap!” I exclaimed, throwing the covers off of me. I was supposed to be at work in twenty minutes. There was no way I’d have time to shower. Marcy, the owner of the jewelry store I worked at, probably wouldn’t care if I came in late. I’d never been late once since I started working for her, but I didn’t plan on starting now.

I grabbed a pair of jeans and shimmied into them, then grabbed a loose tank top with a flowered print on it. I was lucky to have a boss that wanted her employees to dress casually. Marcy truly was one of a kind.