Page 63 of Pucker Up
When the GPS finally told us we’d reached our destination, Ace turned onto a driveway that was freshly plowed and sanded.“This is it.” He put the truck into four-wheel drive and we crept down a steep hill.
We turned a corner and the “cabin” came into view. I gasped. “Ace, this isn’t a cabin.”
“Sure, it is.” He grinned. “Just a big one. I didn’t want you to feel like you were roughing it.”
The cabin was bigger than my dad’s house. It looked modern and had soaring peaks topped with copper cupolas. Ace punched the code in the door and we stepped into the most beautiful cottage I’d ever seen. “This isn’t a cabin, it’s a mansion. A cansion.” I laughed.
“Or a mabin.” Ace set down his bag. Morton peed on the snowbank and then trotted inside like he was the owner of the place.
“I think I prefer cansion.” I heard a crackling sound and ventured into the main room of the building. The ceilings were vaulted and soared high above my head. A fireplace was the centerpiece of the room and a roaring fire crackled in the hearth. “Ace, there’s a fire in here.”
He slipped his arms through mine and pulled me close to him. “The caretaker lit it for us. He also brought in some groceries. I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I had him get us a few options.”
“Ace, this is too much.”
“Too much?” He opened the fridge. “With you, there’s no such thing.” He pulled out a shrimp ring and set it on the counter.
“Is it dog friendly?” Morton had curled up on the sofa in front of the fireplace—sans dog blanket.
Ace shrugged. “Sure is.” He pointed to the bowls on the floor, already filled with dog food.
“I wonder who owns this place?” I stepped into the kitchen and marveled at the six-burner Wolf range and marblecountertop. “This place has to be worth… Geez, I don’t even know.”
“Ten point five,” Ace said matter-of-factly.
“How do you know that?” I asked. “Look at this.” I opened a fridge that was stocked exclusively with champagne. “It’s not even a wine fridge, it’s a champagne fridge.”
Ace popped a shrimp into his mouth. “That’s because the wine cellar is in the basement.”
He took a bottle of champagne out of the fridge. “Should we celebrate?”
“Celebrate what? Are we allowed to drink that?”
Ace unscrewed the little wire cage that surrounded the cork. “Yes, we just have to pay for it.”
“Do you know how much it is? It looks fancy.” I took the bottle from his hand. It was Armand de Brignac. “I’ve never heard of this.”
“Me neither.” Ace pointed to the glass front cupboard. “I think I see some champagne glasses in there.”
The man was determined to open the bottle. I took out two champagne flutes and set them on the counter. Ace popped the cork and filled the glasses, handing one to me. “To the Tigers’ winning streak.”
“To the streak.” I couldn’t help but smile. My dad wasn’t the only one misusing the term. We tapped the glasses together and they made that musical tinkling sound that only fine crystal made.
“To the person responsible for the streak.” He winked.
I sipped the champagne and rested my hand on his chest. “That would be you, Ace. You’re the one responsible for the…streak.”
He wrapped his arm around my waist and pulled me tightly to him. My heart thudded in my chest and it wasn’t because ofthe champagne. “We all know that’s not true,” he whispered in my ear. “You made the plan; I executed it.”
“Ace, there’s something I need to tell—” His lips were on mine before I could finish my sentence. “No more serious talk tonight, Goldie. I don’t care if it was a fluke, or a guess, or whatever. You’re incredible and I’m so grateful to have you in my life.”
I melted. “I feel the same way, Ace. I’ve never met a man like you. But we really need to discuss a couple things.”
He put his finger on my lips. “Can they wait until tomorrow?”
Secretly, I was relieved. I had one more day to figure out how to tell him that I was the slightly crazy daughter of Coach Swanson. “Sure, Ace. We can talk about it tomorrow.”
“Good. Now dance with me.” He pushed some buttons on an iPad and music filled the great room. “Do you like Van Morrison?”
