Page 46 of About Yesterday (Foothills #5)

Trace glared playfully at Cole as she considered.

“I went on this date, not long before you got back, with a friend from grad school.” She fiddled her tongue over the backs of her teeth, and he could see her trying to not look at him more than she should.

“Draven. Most boring date I have ever been on.”

“Part of the impetus for climbing out of your rut?” Cole asked, lifting a wicked grin to let her know he was absolutely thinking about blowjobs and black lace.

“Yes, actually. I’m not saying I regret going on the date, but I regret that I had such high expectations, then had to look back and realize that I was just as boring as he was. Maybe more.”

“You could never be boring,” Ellen said fiercely, nodding sharply at Trace. “What made you think that?”

“We had nothing to talk about, and even on that date, I played it safe, avoiding topics that might cause even the slightest discomfort.” She bit her lips together, then cleared her throat and blushed as she looked over at her parents. “He kissed me, on the bridge at Riverside Trail.”

“How romantic,” Ellen said, seeming to miss the entire point.

Cole leaned his elbows on the table, hiding his grin behind his coffee cup. He probably ought to be jealous, possessiveness or something kicking in, but it was in the past, and if she’d kissed this other guy like she kissed him, Draven wouldn’t have been able to drag himself away.

“It should have been,” Trace said, shaking her head, eyes wide and sad as she recounted it. “It was one of those sweet pecks.”

“What’s wrong with that?” Jeremy asked, brow scrunched and he scoffed again. “Better than coming in awkwardly all-tongue.”

Trace laughed and blushed and shook her head at her dad.

“I don’t disagree, but that was it. All of it.

It wasn’t a testing, is-there-a-spark kiss.

Just the peck, as if that was as exciting as he got.

He was so pleased with himself and then held my hand as we walked back to our cars, and then…

oh boy, just wait… he did another peck when we got back to the car, and he blushed. ”

“So what’s your regret?” Cole asked. “That you tried a date with a dud?”

“No. I’m glad I tried,” she said, shaking her head and exhaling a steady sigh.

“I regret that he didn’t know me before he arrived, as I had been too afraid to be myself for so long.

I mean, this is a tiny town, you sort of grow up with your friends, and it’s different here.

Anyway, I regret that he didn’t know me any better by the time the date was over.

And I regret that I left the pace entirely up to him. ”

She stole a glance toward him, but kept her gaze evenly distributed and casual. “I mean, if he considered that a date-worthy kiss, I can’t imagine a more intimate kiss would have been any good. And the chemistry was meh . But I wish I had gone for it, to know that I could.”

Cole savored her words, knowing what that kiss at the hotel gym had meant to her, and realized it meant so much more than she’d led on. Not just a kiss, but a pointed move to be more empowered, and that she picked him, felt safe enough with him, was honest enough with him.

Unable to resist, he subtly lowered his hand down, and his heart beat out of his chest and flapped its wings until it hovered over his head as she lowered her hand down and linked with his.

“Does that count as three regrets?” she said, grinning and nibbling her lip, ornery and the smartass he adored.

He feigned a serious considering expression as Jeremy laughed and shook his head no.

Cole cleared his throat and answered for the table.

“You regret that you went out on a date with this dud, you regret that you’d never shown him the real you, and you regret that you didn’t kiss him?

I think we can accept those as your three regrets, but only if you counter with something you’re proud of, along those same lines.

Like, I don’t know, maybe you went out with someone who thinks you’re fascinating?

Maybe you made the first move? That you fearlessly took it further?

A lot further? We’ll need details about how great it was.

At least six things that were incredible about being with this other guy. ”

Trace squeezed his hand and refused to look at him.

Ellen looked up at the ceiling, Jeremy at the floor, as they both pretended they didn’t know.

Trace would flip out if she knew he’d called them, panicked and making sure he hadn’t destroyed his relationship with them, pleading for advice on how to not screw this up.

She still didn’t even want to talk to him about it.

“No. Nope,” Trace said, repeating as she bore the phoniest pensive face he’d ever seen, but he knew she’d have fooled many gullible fools. “I need to vary my regrets and pride a little more. I’d hate to get stuck in a rut.”

The oven chimed that it had reached temperature, and he released Trace’s hand as Ellen stood to put the bread in the oven.

S unday night was the worst night of the week. Back to work the next day, early bedtime. Except, as far as her work knew, Trace had a terribly contagious illness and would be out for several days.

Tonight was the worst for so many other reasons. How did he stand the waiting? For someone to bust in shooting or something comparably nightmarishly awful?

Or maybe he couldn’t stand the waiting. Cole hadn’t been able to sit still and had gone to the garage to work on another project, taking a few of the dining chairs.

Maybe he’d glue them back together, again, as the dowels were constantly popping out and someone was going to get hurt one of these days.

Ear to the ground, he acted busy, but she knew he was setting things in motion, his mind always on the job.

Thus, Trace was restless and irritable and felt completely useless. Clearly, her parents were in similar boats.

Cole distracted Jeremy by claiming he needed help fixing the wobbly dining chairs, and they took them to his makeshift workshop in the garage.

Ellen baked like there was no tomorrow, as, well, chances were, there wouldn’t be. Ugh. She hated having her parents in the middle of this.

Seven o’clock rolled around, and Cole had kept her dad busy, moving onto Trace’s car while the glue set on the chairs.

She knew her mom had brought dinner out to Cole and to her dad while he pretended to help.

Trace had a quiet dinner with her mom in the kitchen, while her mother futzed with diabetic friendlier recipes.

Eight o’clock.

Was he going to come upstairs at all? Sleep would be important, before… fuck. She didn’t even know.

She washed up for bed, and then stood in front of her closet, pulled out her normal, minimalist sleepwear and glared at it, then back to the drawer. The pink silk getup was neatly folded, after she’d unpacked and rearranged her bedroom to keep occupied.

There was a gentle tap on her door. “Trace? It’s me,” he said.

In her panties and an old t-shirt, Trace dashed across the room and opened the door a crack. “Yes?” she asked, melting instantly when she saw him grinning at her, lips curled up, one side devilishly plotting as it lifted higher than the other.

“Freya texted me, said to ask you about a pink thing?”

Guards at every corner of the house, scattered across town. Cole in the thick of a fight, yet again. She opened the door and nodded for him to come in. “I’m not sure now is the best time for… the pink thing.”

His brow dropped low, and he chewed the edge of his cheek, holding her gaze with his. “Now is the best time for… a pink thing.”

“How can you think about… sex and pink silk things and… and… anything other than the fact that your identity was compromised and your life is in danger?”

“Trace,” he murmured, his expression relaxing as he studied hers. “I’m not going to lie and say you get used it, but at some point, you realize that if you let your life constantly be dominated by worry and fear, or even preparing for the next steps, you’ll never get to enjoy the good parts.”

“What if you’re caught off guard? You aren’t supposed to have worries this life-threatening anymore.

What if they come during the night? Or while we’re…

you know. It happens all the time in horror movies.

I’ll be riding you and getting off and a sniper will shoot me in the chest and it’ll be bloody and gruesome and… and…”

Cole grinned and laughed and leaned in and touched a soft kiss to her lips as he drew her close. “They want something from me, and you are their most effective tool against me. So, until we’ve been captured and they have what they want, I think we’re safe.”

She growled and kissed him back. “You are the exact opposite of boring.”

“Hope that’s okay,” he said as he kissed her again. “I would have kissed you with tongue and probably grabbed your ass on the bridge.”

She snorted a laugh and nipped his bottom lip. “I believe I kissed you first.”

“I might not be boring, but I am very patient.” He sucked her tongue before kissing her hard and long.

“You keep thinking I’m going to run, and maybe I should, but I’ve spent half my life obsessing over you.

” He framed her face in his hands and she saw the ache boiling in his bones.

“You are so much more alive and wild and sweet and sexy and… fuck, Trace, I will never get enough of you.” He leaned in and touched a soft kiss to her lips, then leaned back against the door.

“When I was a kid, my favorite part of the day was art class. Finger painting. Glitter exploding all over the table and colors blending chaotically. Charcoal and the stain of it getting all over my fingers. Painfully early on, I learned to indulge in moments that make me happy. To not stare at the door, waiting for the principle to walk in and drop a bombshell, like another social worker wanting to talk to me or that my mom had finally been arrested or that my grandma was here to take me again.”