There’s a moment before her face goes soft, those brimming tears returning to her blue eyes, making them shine brighter.
“Are youSixteen Candles-ing me?” she asks through a small laugh. I just smile at her, gesturing to the cake and shrugging.
“It’s your favorite movie.”
“What did I do to deserve you, Graham Hawthorne?” she asks.
“Maybe you’re just lucky.”
She lets out a loud, cheer-filled laugh before looking at the cake.
“Must be.”
“Make a wish, June,” I say, watching the wax start to pool as it drips down.
“I can’t believe you did all of this just for my birthday.”
“I might play with fate a bit, but I promise I’ll never forget your birthday.” One of those tears drips, rolling down her cheek. “Blow out the candles, June. Make a wish,” I whisper. More tears fall, and I reach over to brush one away, streaking the wet across the apple of her cheek. She gives me a watery smile before laughing and shaking her head. My brows furrow. “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know what to wish for.” She lets out a small, disbelieving laugh. “I have everything I ever wanted. I’m the luckiest girl in the world.”
And for a moment, nothing else matters. Nothing but June and her sweet smile, her hair pulled into a messy knot on top of her head, the candles burning beneath her, the glow lighting up the angles of her face. So at ease, so content, so… everything. And I know she means it: she feels lucky, because she has everything. It has nothing to do with career, money, or things. Instead, it has everything to do with me, her friends, and her family. With her town and that settled feeling I too now feel when I’m there, when I’m home.
“I love you, June,” I say low. She asked me once if I’ve ever been in love, and the answer was no, not that I told her at the time. I’ve never said that to a woman, never been close enough to make it something that even crossed my mind, but I’ve been biting my tongue for weeks now, trying to find the right time to confess this secret to June in a way she would find special and magical and whimsical.
I don’t know if blurting it out while confessing all of the white lies I’ve told her over the past few months is the most romantic, but when her eyes soften, her hand covers mine, and she speaks, I know it’s going to work out in the end.
“I love you too, Graham.” I smile then, leaning in and pressing my lips to her softly before pulling back. “Best birthday ever,” she says low, then finally pulls back and blows out the candles.
THIRTY-SEVEN
A week after the chaos that was my finding out that my boyfriend had been quietly working behind the scenes to make all of my wishes come true, I wake in Graham’s arms, in Graham’s bed.
It’s been the best week of my life, if I’m being honest.
Once everything was out in the open, Graham seemed lighter, and I realized he must have been nervous about my finding out for some time. Part of me wonders if he would have held onto those secrets forever, but another part simply doesn’t care. Nothing he did was manipulative in the way of making me have feelings for him: if anything, from what I understand, it was meant to be a way for him to make me happy from afar, though my incessant need to be friends with him threw a wrench in his plans.
But now, there’s nothing between us, and I’m happier and more settled into my life than I ever have. Yesterday was Sunday, and we spent the night at the Seabreeze with the crew, Graham hanging with the guys; me and the girls gabbing while Lainey worked, and it felt so incredibly perfect, like where we were all supposed to be. This week, we’ll be ironing out the datesand times for my heading down to the Keys for my first big commission. Graham is heading down with me and has already convinced me to tack on a few days. When I objected, he said a weekend with me at a luxury resort is his dream. I reminded him I’ll be there for work, and when he said that I needed a better work-life balance, I laughed until I couldn’t breathe.
Oh, how the tables have turned.
“Morning,” Graham says as I slowly enter the land of the living. His fingers move through my hair, pushing it back over my shoulder.
“Morning,” I murmur into his chest, melting back into the bed. Maybe that third drink Sutton talked me into wasn’t my best plan. Before I can fall into the depths of sleep once more, though, his voice enters my consciousness once more, knocking me straight into reality.
“Happy second birthday, June.”
Everything stops.
My eyes open, blinking once, twice, three times as his hand continues to brush my hair back before I dare to look up at him. He’s grinning down at me, a smile I have come to love so damned much, near-blinding. “Did you think I’d forget?” Hesitantly and nervously, I sit up, his tee pooling around my hips. My hair is a mess, I’m sure, but I watch intently as he reaches over to his bedside table, pulling out a flat square box wrapped in pink paper with a red ribbon.
“What is this?” I ask as he hands it to me.
“Your second birthday present,” he says simply. I fumble the package with his words, letting it tumble to the bedspread. Everything stops: my breathing, my heart, my world.
“Second…” I start, the words clogging in my throat as my eyes water again. This seems to be happening a lot lately.
“Today is a week after your real birthday. It’s your second birthday.” For a moment, he looks confused and a bit nervous.“That’s what you told me, right? One week after your birthday and…”
