Her words cut off as she entered the living room. A blanket covered the newly finished floors, rose petals sprinkled the room. Two taper candles burned beside a silver ice bucket where a bottle of champagne chilled.
“Oh my God…” She stared at the romantic spread, lowering to the blanket, her legs no longer sturdy.
“You like?”
“I love.”
He reached into the basket. “I wanted to cook for you, so I gave Nona the night off. I hope you like peanut butter and jelly.”
He handed her a sandwich, wrapped in a plastic lunch bag. She sniffed it and smiled. “It smells like school.”
He smelled his sandwich. “I guess it does, a little.” He withdrew two coffee mugs and poured her a glass of champagne. “This is the new trend. Everyone’s doing it.”
She accepted her mug and he clanked his to hers. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Erin.”
“Happy Valentine’s Day.”
The bubbles fizzed on her tongue and she giggled, loving the sharp flavor that went right to her head. He watched her nibble her sandwich, refilling her champagne mug before it ever had a chance to fully empty.
“I missed you,” he told her again, and it worried her how much she liked knowing that someone cared enough to miss her, how he thought about her when she wasn’t around.
Setting down her sandwich on a napkin, she leaned forward on her hands and knees and kissed him. “I missed you, too.”
He studied her, and she sat back, trying to not freak out or second guess what he might be thinking.
“I have something else for you.” He reached into the basket.
“There’s more?”
“This isn’t a Valentine’s Day thing. It’s a had-to-do-it thing.”
She smiled, unsure what he was going to pull out of that magic basket but certain it would be amazing. Then her heart stopped.
He set a small lump of a cake in front of her and poked a candle in the top. “Happy birthday, Erin.” He pulled a lighter from the basket and lit the candle.
It wasn’t a pretty cake or even a level cake. “Did you make that?”
He nodded. “I cheated and used a box. It’s just vanilla.”
“Just vanilla,” she repeated, her vision wavering as she stared down at the flickering flame.
He cleared his throat and sang softly, his eyes never leaving hers. “Happy birthday to you…” Each verse was more excruciating than the last, not because he was off key—Giovanni actually had a lovely crooning voice—but because no one, to her recollection, ever sang this song to her before.
Finn had always given her a birthday present each year when they dated, but he never sang and he never made her a cake. In grade school, her classmates often brought cupcakes in to celebrate their birthdays and the whole class would sing and clap and that student sometimes got to wear a special hat or lead the line that day.
She never brought anything in for her birthday, because no one at home acted as if it was special or made her something to bring. It was just another day, another year gone by. After a while, she believed her birthday wasn’t a big deal, because no one ever acted like it was.
“Make a wish.”
She looked up at him with flooded eyes, unable to prevent the tears from spilling over. Her throat tightened to the width of a pin, making it hard to talk or swallow. Her chest was hot and full, her stomach topsy-turvy like a ship lost at sea. She wanted to puke but also wanted to laugh or cry, and the strange thing was, all of those mixed up unpleasant emotions linked back to the incredibly satisfying happiness she felt in that moment. It was simply too much.
Could a heart break from too much joy or too much of a good thing? Hers seemed on the brink of shattering.
“Make a wish,” he repeated.
She didn’t know what to wish for. Friends? That the house sold? That her mom might someday find her? That she and Harrison could be close again? That her father was finally at peace? All of these things she wanted and worried for on a daily basis, but none of them felt wish worthy.
She held back her hair and leaned forward, setting her mind to what she wanted most at that moment.
I wish for him to always look at me the way he’s looking at me now. She blew softly and the candle extinguished, the scent of smoke and hot wax snaking through the air.
He grinned, swiping a finger through a glob of icing and holding it out for her. She sucked it into her mouth and when she looked up at him again, he tackled her to her back and kissed her, laughing and smearing a streak of frosting down her cheek.
They didn’t bother to find a fork. They fed each other bits of cake and he painted her lips and skin with strokes of sweet icing, licking each smudge away and leaving her wet and sticky.