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The doorbell rang and I ran out of the kitchen like my butt was on fire.
I had been pacing the length of the kitchen for a solid twenty minutes as I waited for Trace to arrive. My mom continued to cook, pretending she didn’t notice me nervously walking back and forth.
I swung the door open and forced a smile.
Trace was freshly shaved with his dark hair brushed back and a beanie on top of his head. He wore a dark pair of jeans and a tight white V-neck shirt, with a long sleeve button down yellow and black plaid shirt on top. His leather jacket and boots completed the look.
“Hey,” he grinned. “I’m sorry about the way I acted earlier on the phone,” he pulled a bouquet of flowers from behind his back and handed them to me. “Forgive me?”
I narrowed my eyes, making him sweat it a bit longer. “Are flowers supposed to make me feel better?”
“Well, no,” he squirmed.
“I’m kidding,” I smiled genuinely this time. “They’re beautiful,” I inhaled the fresh scent. “Get inside, it’s starting to snow,” I opened the door wider.
He stepped inside and I saw that he had a similar bouquet clasped in his other hand. “For your mom,” he explained at my staring.
“Oh,” I nodded, “that was nice of you.”
He chuckled. “I am a nice guy.”
I rolled m
y eyes, closing and locking the door.
He took a deep breath and removed his beanie. I could tell he was nervous and trying to lighten the mood.
“It’ll be fine,” I stood on my tiptoes to place a light kiss on his lips.
He kissed me back and grinned fully when I pulled away.
I took his hand and led him into the kitchen.
My mom’s back was to us. She hummed as she stirred a pot on the stove and then wiped her hands on her apron.
I cleared my throat and she turned around. “Mom, this is Trace. Trace, this is my mom.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Owens,” Trace let go of my hand and reached out to shake my mom’s.
She surprised him by reaching up and giving him a hug. “Please, call me Nora.”
“Nora,” he smiled, “these are for you.”
She smiled as she gazed at the flowers in his hand. She took them from him. “These are lovely. Thank you. Olivia, why don’t you look around and see if you can find two vases,” she eyed the bouquet in my hand.
I looked around at all the cabinets and grumbled, “Where do I even start looking?”
Ten minutes later, I gave up on locating a vase, and stuck the flower arrangements in regular drinking glasses. Problem solved.
Trace was helping my mom set the table, when I placed the flowers in their makeshift vases, at the center of the table.
“Nice,” Trace snorted, looking at the drinking glass vases.
“Sometimes, you have to be resourceful,” I laughed.
Once all the food was on the table, we sat down to eat. My mom sat across from Trace and me.
My mom had made a batch of her cheesy potatoes, my favorite, among several other side dishes, and she had grilled steaks since the Callahan’s had one of those fancy indoor grills.
