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“Thank you so much for everything,” I hugged Marcus and Rebecca. “If you’re ever in Northern Virginia, call us.”
“We will,” Marcus assured me.
“Bye, Jamie,” I bent slightly to hug the boy.
“Are you going to visit us again?” Jamie asked.
I shrugged. “You never know.”
“I hope you do.”
“I hope so too,” I smiled, meaning it.
“Bye, Sarah,” I said to the girl, but she was too busy sobbing into Trace’s shoulder to hear me. I swear I saw tears in Trace’s eyes too.
Finally, Marcus pried Sarah from Trace’s arms so we could get in the car. Sarah clung to her dad as she sobbed. Trace bowed his head and ducked into the car.
“Bye guys,” I said one last time.
Trace didn’t waste any time in pulling away.
I looked over at him. “Are you crying?” I gasped.
“No,” he turned his face away from me.
“Liar.”
“There’s something in my eye,” he defended.
I rolled my eyes, fighting a smile. “That’s the oldest excuse in the book. It’s okay to cry, you know.”
“I—” He shrugged, floundering for words. “I feel bad. I didn’t think she’d be that upset by us leaving.”
“She likes you, of course she’s upset. She’s only six,” I reasoned.
“Yeah,” he gripped the steering wheel, “but I don’t want to be responsible for breaking a six year old girl’s heart.”
I laughed. “It’s your own fault. You’re too charming for your own good. I’m pretty sure everyone falls in love with you on sight.”
“It’s the scruff,” he rubbed his jaw. “No one can resist the power of my facial hair.”
“It is pretty amazing,” I reached across and rubbed his cheek.
“So,” his brows furrowed as he became serious, “where do you want to go next? I’ve picked the last three places, so I think you deserve a turn.”
“Hmm,” I pondered. “I really want to see the Statue of Liberty.”
He grinned. “Done.”
A few hours later we parked in New Jersey and rode the subway into New York City. I didn’t like the subway. At all. There were some strange people on there, but Trace had insisted that we ride it for, in his words, “experience’s sake.” Whatever. That was one experience I could’ve done without. There was one man that wasn’t wearing any pants. When we finally got off the subway, I dug Germ-X out of my purse and drenched my hands in its gooeyness. Trace watched me with a raised brow, fighting a smile.
“Here, take some,” I shoved the bottle in his hands.
“Nah, I’m good,” he leaned casually against the wall, crossing his feet at the ankles.
“If you ever want me to touch your hands again, you’ll use it,” I warned him.
“Fine,” he took the bottle from me, squirting a small amount in the palm of his hand.
