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“Of course. I always like to know my options.”
“Do we have any?”
“Afraid not.”
“Oh, well, once we’ve eaten, I have it on good authority that the turkey will put us straight to sleep. Maybe when we wake up, we’ll have forgotten all about sneaking upstairs to be alone.”
“I doubt it,” Trace said, his expression wry. “Besides, I promised Hannah we’d all go for a walk after dinner.”
“Why on earth would you do that? You just got back from a walk.”
“Which taught me the distracting power of exercise,” he said. “Besides, maybe we can have another snowball fight, and I can tackle you in the snow.”
Savannah laughed. “Now there’s something to look forward to.”
“Sweetheart, a frustrated man is willing to take any contact he can get.”
“Interesting. I would think the chill of the snow would be counterproductive.”
“I think I’d have to spend a month outdoors in the Arctic before it would cool the effect you have on me,” he said with flattering sincerity. He tipped her chin up to look directly into her eyes. “By the way, let’s make a date.”
“A date?”
He grinned. “You know, a man and a woman, getting together. A date.”
“Out on the town?”
“Or alone in front of a cozy fire.”
“Okay,” she said with a surge of anticipation. “When do you want to have this date?”
“Tomorrow night?” he suggested.
The level of relief Savannah felt when she realized he intended to stay another day was scary. She had a feeling she wanted way too much from this man. Asking for a date—even making love—was hardly a declaration of undying devotion. She really needed to keep things in perspective and not get ahead of herself.
“Tomorrow would be fine. Maybe I’ll see if Hannah can spend the night with Jolie again.”
Trace grinned. “Best idea I’ve heard all day.”
Savannah’s heart beat a little faster at the promise beneath his words. The memory of the last night they had spent alone in this house brought a flush to her cheeks.
“Then I will definitely make it happen,” she vowed. Because she was desperate for another one of those sweet kisses despite the risk of Hannah walking in on them, she backed away from Trace and moved to the stove, opening lids and checking on things that were simmering just fine only moments ago.
“Trace,” she said without turning around, “if I ask you something, will you tell me the truth?”
“If I can,” he said at once.
“You did make all the arrangements for Santa and the presents, didn’t you?”
“Do you really want to know?” he asked, sounding vaguely frustrated. “Wouldn’t you prefer to think it was part of the Christmas magic?”
She turned to face him. “Sure,” she said honestly. “But I also believe in giving credit where credit’s due. I’m not an eight-year-old who still believes in Santa, at least when it suits her. I know the kind of effort and money it takes to make a morning like the one we had happen. The person responsible should be thanked.”
He shrugged, looking as if her persistence made him uncomfortable. “Look, it was nothing, okay?”
“It was more than that and you know it. You made Hannah’s Christmas, and mine.”
“I’m glad,” he said. “Can we drop it now?”
