Page 79 of The Guy in the Alley

Taking a step back from the counter, I inspected my handiwork. Three wrapped gifts. I mean, they were wrapped. That was all that mattered. No ribbon needed, ’cause the tape went all the way around in every direction.

The fourth present didn’t need wrapping paper because it was my mouth.

If he wanted it.

All right, breakfast. This was the easy part. I put two waffles in the toaster and hauled out the can of whipped cream and the fancy brand of strawberry preserves I’d bought.

I couldn’t wait to see his reaction. I’d snooped again. I’d texted his cousin the other day to ask if she knew his favorite breakfast.

While I waited for the waffles, I made quick work of very silently leaving the gifts on the coffee table in the front room. I poured us coffee, I brought out two plates, and I discarded the packaging from the birthday candles.

Forty-nine years.

I wanted the next forty-nine. Then we could die together and be buried at Wrigley so I could haunt our enemies.

That wasn’t too much to ask.

The waffles finally popped up, perfectly golden brown, and I dropped them on the plates. Ouch, that was hot. Whipped cream, spoon for the preserves, two mugs of coffee, candles, let’s go.

The rule to wake up Ben slowly still applied; otherwise, he’d get startled and brace himself for a fight. So I put down the food on the coffee table, no longer trying to be as quiet as possible.

“Is the birthday boy ready to wake up?” I sprayed whipped cream over the waffles—then obviously sprayed some in my mouth too. It was practically the law. “Ben?”

“You kiddin’ me,” he grumbled into his pillow.

“I’ll fucking sing,” I warned him.

I added strawberry preserves too, then stuck the 4 and the 9 candles into his waffle. My trusty Dearborn Clover matchbook got the job done.

“Happy birthday to Ben,” I sang. “Happy birthday to Ben. Happy birthday, silver Sox fox, happy birthday to?—”

“Trace,” he groaned through a drowsy chuckle.

I grinned and turned on the TV, then promptly muted the sound.

“Come on, I got stuff here for you.” I sat down on the foot of the bed and squeezed his calf through the covers. “I know you don’t gotta take a leak first, ’cause you do that around three every morning?—”

“Christ,” he grated out. He pushed back the covers, and I looked over my shoulder as he sat up, half disoriented, and squinted at me. Then at the setup on the table, then back at me. “Boy, what did you do?”

I smiled.

He scooted lower till he was right next to me, and he didn’t say anything at first. He just looped an arm around my neck and pressed his lips to my temple.

Keep going.

“You can’t be real,” he murmured.

Except, I was. And my whole fucking being screamed for more of his warmth. My hand was on his thigh before I could stop myself, and then I just left it there.

These days, I couldn’t even imagine going to bed without knowing he’d either join me soon or he was already there. Because of his job, and mine, we rarely crashed at the same time, and maybe that was for the best. I’d probably throw myself at him after a round of lazy pillow talk about the latest game or…fucking anything.

“Have you been going through my phone, bright spot?”

Oh shit.

I cleared my throat, and he eased back. Thank fuck, no hostility in his gaze. More of a cocked brow daring me to lie to him—and some wry amusement.

“What gave you that idea?” I asked innocently.

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