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Well, everyone other than me. I watch them, poised and nervous, as I wait to hear their verdict. It’s easy to use words to placate and reassure someone, so I’m hoping their expressions will reveal how badly I did, or if I managed to pull it off…by some sort of miracle.

“This is pretty amazing, honeybee,” Max says, head still down and focused on his plate. He shovels another bite in, then without pause, takes a huge bite of his garlic bread. Both cheeks inflate from everything he’s crammed in his mouth, and he smiles. Thankfully, his mouth is closed and doesn’t reveal all that food.

“Perfect,” Nate mutters, his expression too fixed in his normal frown that I can’t tell. Then again, it is Nate, and I somehow doubt he’d be able to ever tell me something I made was awful. Behind that scowly face is one of the biggest marshmallows of a man I could meet.

“Best birthday meal. Thank you, Rosy,” Noah says sweetly, and his eyes crinkle at me from across the table. A trickle of relief flows through me that I didn’t fail.

I turn to Bry. My lip disappears between my teeth, and I gnaw on it nervously.

His opinion matters more than I realised.

I track his movements as he tears off a piece of his bread and pops it into his mouth. His blue eyes don’t catch mine, nor does any other part of his face move other than his mouth as he chews. He swallows finally.

“Told you, you did great. It tastes really good. You should be proud.” He grins, and I can feel his praise, his confidence in me. Slumping in my chair with relief, I smile back at him.

Trying new things is hard. Making a commitment to do something for someone is even harder, and I was so worried that it would all go wrong. I then doubted my offer to do this, but I’m glad I pushed through.

A little more bolstered, I pick up my fork, stab a few of the pasta shapes and try it.

“Shitballs, this is good,” I utter and eat a bit more. The soft chew of the pasta, mixed with the homemade tomato-based sauce, and the added crunch of the smoky tofu…is actually really good.

The guys chuckle around me, but I’m too busy shoving a piece of the garlic bread into my mouth to pay them much attention.

My stomach whirls with a riot of butterflies, and I gnaw on my lip. Sharp pain twangs through it, but I ignore it, too focused on placing the bowl down in front of Noah.

He glances down at it, then looks up at me with an expression that has all those butterflies swooping downwards. “Is this because of⁠—”

“Our first date.” I nod.

Heat blooms across my cheeks as he stares for a moment longer. I duck my head, suddenly too nervous that I did the wrong thing. Perhaps I should’ve picked something else instead. It’s hardly a birthday cake.

“It’s really thoughtful, thank you,” he says, his words warm and full of appreciation. “That was a special day, and you making this for me has made today even more so.”

“You’re…” I clear my throat, dislodging the emotions. “You’re welcome.”

“It’s really good, honeybee,” Max adds. We turn to face him and find him shovelling a spoonful in his mouth, mascarpone cream already smeared across his upper lip.

“You couldn’t even wait for the birthday boy to try his first?” I scold tartly.

“Not eating it would’ve been rude,” he disagrees, already halfway through his large portion.

“It does taste perfect,” Noah praises and it draws my attention back to him. He smiles, nodding, and my throat fills as I grin broadly back at him, pleased I could do something to make him feel as special as he makes me feel.

FIFTY-EIGHT

NOAH

Rosy’s hands twist out of the corner of my eye, but I’m too struck in a cacophony of emotions to do anything other than stare down at the present I’ve just unwrapped from her.

“I wasn’t sure…I’m not trying to replace the tradition. I just wanted to add to the memories. If I overstepped, I…I’m really sorry. I should’ve thought it through more. Perhaps this wasn’t a good idea. I can send it back,” Rosy rushes out and takes a step towards me.

A hand peeks from the sleeve of her soft yellow knit jumper as she reaches to remove the gift from my grip. It lands on the book, but I cover it with my hand and whisper her name, needing her to look at me.

“It was a perfect idea. Thank you. It’s brought back wonderful memories with Dad that I cherish, and it means a lot that you remembered,” I tell her once I have her attention.

The slender column of her neck moves as she swallows, and I take a brief second to be grateful that the bruised marks she once had are no longer there.

“I’m not sure if I did it right, or if it’s something you’d read…You can take it back and change it for something else you’d like?”