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“What did you do?” I ask suspiciously while petting Lily.
He comes over to take my hand and leads me to the kitchen. “Come find out.” On the table is a cake with chocolate icing. “While you’ve been out partying, I made you this.”
“I haven’t been partying. You made this?” The only sweet he’s ever made before is those Ritz crackers with peanut butter and marshmallows.
“Yep,” he answers proudly. “And I think there’s just the right amount of icing for you since you don’t like a lot, but not too little either. It’s a yellow cake. Do you want some?”
“Yeah. We didn’t get anything sweet.”
“Melissa is a terrible best friend. What kind of person doesn’t make sure the birthday girl eats something sweet?”
I frown. “You didn’t have anything sweet on your birthday.”
He grins and pulls me against me. “Yes, I did. You.”
Laughing, I roll my eyes and pull away from him to get a knife to cut the cake. Trace gets forks and plates. “Thanks for everything, by the way.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Who were you talking to on the phone? You were a bit rude to just hang up on them like that.”
“It was just my dad. He knew I was waiting for you.”
“You didn’t have to hang up right away, though. I could’ve waited.”
“It was fine,” he insists. “Eat your cake.”
“You did good,” I tell him.
“With the cake or everything?”
“Everything.”
He smiles. “Good. I was worried you’d be upset we didn’t do more together.”
I shake my head. “No, it’s okay.” I’ve finished my little slice of cake. “I’m going to take a shower. I’m all oily from the massage. Are you joining me?”
His smile turns into a grin as he stands, and I laugh as he bends to lift me into his arms to carry me to the shower, kissing my neck. He’s not paying attention at all, so we bump into the wall a few times. This does nothing but make me laugh. It’s been a great birthday. Much better than mine last year. I hope there are many more birthdays to come with Trace.
Brittany sits on the couch, squeezing her wrist. We’re watching Dateline, but she doesn’t seem to be paying attention. I throw a piece of popcorn at her. She frowns and looks at me.
“What’s bugging you?”
“Nothing really.”
I raise an eyebrow and wait. She’ll let it out eventually, especially if it’s something that’s really bothering her. Brittany waits until a comme
rcial before folding her legs and angling toward me.
“I know it’s ridiculous to worry about it when it’s months away, but we need to go ahead and make a decision about who we’re spending Thanksgiving and Christmas with. I need to know. It’s bothering me already. Let’s decide, so I can stop worrying about it.”
These are the kinds of anxiety issues I like. They’re easy to solve, not something too major, and once we settle the issue, she’ll be fine.
“What do you want to do?” I ask.
She squeezes her wrist again. “What’s your preference?”
“I honestly don’t have one. You can decide and I’ll be totally fine with it.”
