say that spirits don’t exist, but I don’t believe in ghosts that you can actually see. It had to be my imagination, all stirred up from dancing in the old ballroom.
In the dining room, I smooth my hand over the built-in mahogany sideboard. “You’re going to keep some of this original stuff, aren’t you?”
“As much as we can, yeah.”
“Good.”
Trace locks up, and we return to his truck. The breeze rustles the tender new leaves of the trees lining the street and cools the heat in my cheeks.
“Thank you for bringing me here. That was amazing.”
“How about ice cream?” Trace says when we’re buckled in.
I grin. “I never say no to ice cream.”
He drives to my favorite ice cream place on West Montrose, Happy Cones. It’s late, but they’re still open. In fact, there’s even a short lineup out the doors of the tiny shop.
We fall into place behind what seems to be a group of teenagers all together.
“I love this place,” I tell him as we wait our turn.
“Me too.”
“What are you going to have?”
“The Cookie Monster.”
“Ohhh, that’s so good.” I nibble my bottom lip. “I think I’ll have the Big Little Chocolate Cone.”
The group in front of us is loud, their conversation being carried out at a level approaching yelling, their laughter raucous. I meet Trace’s eyes, and we both make faces.
“You like chocolate?” he asks.
“I love chocolate.”
Two of the boys in front of us start jostling each other. “You dumb fucker,” one of them says.
“Shut the fuck up, fuckface.”
Trace’s face tightens. He glances around.
It’s late, so there aren’t any children waiting in line, but still, their loud swearing is kind of douchey.
Then one of the guys gets shoved right into me. I stumble back, almost stepping on the person behind me.
“Hey!” I cry.
Without a second’s pause, Trace grabs the guy by his shirt and yanks him away from me. “Dude,” he clips out. “Watch out.” He holds on to him as the kid regains his balance, then tries to pull away from him. His friends make concerned noises. Trace looks at me. “You okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. Just startled.”
“You could have hurt her,” Trace continues in a low, authoritative voice, his face grim. “Apologize.”
“Sorry,” the kid mumbles.
“You guys are out of line,” Trace says to them all, releasing the boy. “Settle down. You wanna wrestle, go to the park over there.” He jerks his head.
The kids all shuffle back into line, muttering but chastened.
“You sure you’re okay?” Trace asks me quietly.
“Yes.” I press my lips together briefly. “Thanks.” I’m fine, and I’m brimming with admiration for how he handled that situation and how quickly he subdued those rowdy kids.
The teenagers move up to the counter to order, and then it’s our turn.
When we have our ice cream, we walk to the small area next door with picnic benches arranged among shrubs and flowers. I take a seat and tip my head back. From here, I can see the moon, which I love. Ever since I was a kid, I found the moon comforting, so far away but lit up so brightly by the sun.
Trace sits beside me on the bench, straddling it to face me, his elbow resting on the table, and digs his spoon into his ice-cream-and-cookie concoction. For the first time I notice that he’s left-handed. I have no idea why, but I’ve always found that sexy.
I first take the tiny ice cream cone off the top of mine. It’s called Big Little Chocolate Cone because the big cone, filled with chocolate soft ice cream, dipped in chocolate and rolled in crushed chocolate cookies, is garnished with a tiny cone prepared the same way. I always eat it first.
When I try to bite it, it slips out of my fingers and lands on the ground. “Oh no!”
Trace glances down. But when I blink again, my little cone is perched on top of the big cone. I shake my head, frowning. “Um… what just happened?”
Trace lifts his eyebrows. “What?”
“I dropped my ice cream… I think…” Wow, I’m pretty sure I’m not drunk from those beers earlier. What the…?
“It’s fine.” He gestures at my cone.
“Yeah. It is.” I stare at it, confused.
“Eat it before it melts,” he says gently.
“Er. Right.” This time I’m successful. “Mmmm. So good.”
“Have I taken your mind off your bad day?”
I tilt my head. “I had a bad day?”
He laughs. “Good.”
I sigh, remembering my messages with Felise Candler earlier. I’ve apparently found my biological father, but I’ve also caused an uproar in the Candler family,