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It’s not until I open the kitchen door that I realize my feet are planted to the floor.
The song.
The familiar melody brings instant tears to my eyes just as he turns with a smile of his own.
Nothing Can Change This LovebySam Cookefloats from the speakers and straight to my chest like an arrow.
He takes a step toward me. “It’s after midnight. Happy birthday, pretty girl.”
Shit, I’m going to cry.
It’s been ten years and he remembered what I told him about this song.
Not only did he remember, but there’s a gift bag sitting on the counter.
“Who told you?” I ask, but it comes out choked.
That’s a silly question. I know exactly who told him.
“I might have had a little girl whisper in my ear.”
Another step and he takes my hand, pulling me into the center of the kitchen.
Closing my eyes, I let the music seep into my pores. “I don’t want this song to end.”
“I have it on repeat. Open your gift.”
“You didn’t need to do this. None of this. You didn’t need to stay. I don’t need birthday—”
He presses a finger over my mouth, keeping my words trapped in my throat.
Smiling so wide my face hurts, I cast him a weary gaze as I peek inside the gift bag.
“I’m no good at wrapping,” he explains, his expression adorable and nothing like the man I spent a night having filthy thoughts about.
“It’s perfect,” I whisper, removing the lavender paper.
And there it sits in a box.
A camera.
Not just any camera.
The camera of my dreams.
“You deserve to live the dream.”
“Logan,” I breathe. Words won’t do this justice, so I wrap my arms around his neck. A deep chuckle in my ear and his hands are on my waist, holding me against his chest. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
After a long minute, he pulls away while never letting go of my hand.
The song plays again.
“I told you I was going to take you on a real date. Dance with me.”
My skin zings with anticipation and my lungs burn for air, but I take that step toward him.
