Page 135 of Blush Crush

I make her one of the February specials, a red velvet latte, while she rests her elbows on the counter. Once it’s done I hand it to her and let Sadie know to hold things down while Nora and I take a seat in the back.

Her mention of Cole’s birthday threw me a little, mostly because I realized I have no idea when it actually is. Which is odd, now that I think about it.

“So what about Cole’s birthday?” I ask, trying to sound far more in the loop than I actually am.

Her lips form a tight, thin line. “It’s tomorrow. He didn’t mention it, did he?” She shakes her head, mostly to herself. “Typical Cole.”

Embarrassment jolts me. I should know when Cole’s birthday is. My skin starts to prickle at the realization that maybe I don’t know my boyfriend as well as I thought I did. If he’s holding back something as small as a birthday, what else isn’t he telling me?

“Don’t,” she says, noticing my expression. “Don’t start blaming yourself or freaking out. I’m not surprised you don’t know. He hates his birthday. He’s literally refused to celebrate it for years.”

“Oh.” Is all I manage. Why would Cole hate his birthday? Beyond the aging part, which most people aren’t fans of, hating it seems excessive. “So what did you want to talk about if he hates it so much?”

Her eyes soften. There’s a sadness there I don’t quite understand—one not usually apparent in someone as bubbly as Nora. “He’s just seemed so happy lately. Happy because of you. And I was hoping maybe you could do something special for him. Not a party or some big thing, obviously it’s way too late for that. I just stupidly assumed he would’ve at least mentioned it. He’s had more miserable birthdays than good ones, and I think it’s about time someone changed that.”

I have so many questions, but none that feel appropriate to ask right now.

“He usually spends it alone,” she adds. “Ignoring calls and texts, holed up at home, locked away from the world. And then the next day he’s back to himself like nothing happened. It’s not healthy. I’m not sure you’ll even be able to get through to him, but if anyone can, it’s you.” She pauses, her lips pulling into a sad smile. “I just hate thinking of him alone on that day. It breaks my heart. It breaks all our hearts.”

Her eyes turn glossy, and based on the sudden blur in my own vision, I think mine do too.

“I’ll try,” I tell her, my heart aching, weighed down heavily by the thought of Cole spending year after year alone on a day where he should be celebrated. I have to find out why. My gut is telling me there’s more to this than hating a birthday.

My nerves have been in a state of chaos since I spoke with Nora. So much so that I’ve whipped up a three-course meal at Cole’s, because I didn’t know what else to do with myself.

He’ll be home any minute now and I’m equal parts excited and dreading it.

I made caprese salad, creamy garlic parmesan pasta, and chocolate-covered strawberries with red and pink sprinkles because I’m of the mindset that all desserts in February need to be Valentine’s Day themed.

The pasta is staying warm on the stove, the caprese is plated, and the strawberries are lined up in the fridge, hardening, when I hear the front door.

“Something smells incredible,” Cole calls from the entryway.

He appears a moment later, looking unfairly handsome in his work clothes, his coat half off one shoulder, and he stops when he takes in the spread across the counter. His eyes move from the food to me and back again. “What’s all this?”

“Dinner,” I say, overcome with shyness. I’ve never cooked for a guy before. Cole and I usually order in or throw together something simple.

“You made all this?” He grins. “For me?”

“Is—Is that okay?” I should’ve asked him first before invading his kitchen.

“Is it okay?” he echoes, disbelief coloring his voice. “Baby.” He crosses the room in two strides, arms wrapping around me, lifting me off my feet and spinning me until I laugh. “You are the best thing I’ve ever come home to.” He sets me down but doesn’t let go, his forehead dropping to mine. “I don’t expect this every night, like the fucking trad wife, but I’m not going to pretend that seeing you barefoot in the kitchen doesn’t make me want to clear that counter and have you for dinner instead.”

I can only imagine how stupidly goofy my smile is as I peer up at him. “Really? You’re not just saying that so I’ll keep cooking for you?”

“Never.” He kisses me softly. “In fact, next time don’t cook, just wait for me naked and I’ll be a happy man.”

“And what do I get in return?”

His lips capture mine again, kissing me deeper, our tongues slowly caressing each other. “Everything,” he says against my lips. “I’m going to give you everything.”

My heart soars. I know he’s just caught up in the moment, but the organ beating wildly in my chest doesn’t know that. It cartwheels and leaps and flies, getting way too ahead of itself.

“First let’s eat and then you can have the strawberries I made for dessert.”

He squeezes a handful of my ass. “I’ll be having you for dessert. Nothing is sweeter than you.”

It’s ridiculous how giddy I get when he says those cheesy phrases. All I can do is smile and roll my eyes as I stir the pasta and Cole sets the table.