Page 81 of The Write Off

“But it’s my party.”

“Yeah. So sit back and enjoy being celebrated, damnit.”

When I told Rilla I’d never had a birthday party, I was simply stating a fact, not making a request. She started planning the celebration immediately, enlisting Travis and Anna as helpers.

“At least let me help get things ready.” I take in the state of the kitchen. The party starts in just over an hour and the place looks like a bomb went off. The dining room table is piled with bags of snacks, plates, and napkins, paper streamers are half hung up on the wall, and there is a large bag of confetti that I desperately hope remains unopened.

“If you insist,” she relents. “You can help me organize the food. Everything sweet can go on the counter, and anything salty can stay on the table.”

I descend on her, scooping her up with ease and proceed to look between the table and counter, like I’m unsure what category she fits in. Finally I set her on the marble countertop, rather pleased with myself.

“That is not what I meant.” Rilla is attempting to scowl at me, but her heart is just not in it.

“You should be more clear with your directions, Ms. Pine.” My lips brush against hers and she shivers, wrapping her arms around my neck and pulling me against her.

A loud pop comes from the living room and we break apart.

“Is twenty-nine balloons okay, Rilla?” Travis calls out, causing a deep rumble of laughter to escape my chest.

“Twenty-nine is perfect, pal!”

***

Stuart is the first guest to arrive, dressed to the nines with his dapper checkered tweed coat and deerstalker hat, made popular by Sherlock Holmes. He shakes my hand as he enters the condo.

“Many happy returns to you, birthday boy.” He slaps me on the back. When he spots Rilla across the room his hands shoot to his chest like he’s just been struck through the heart. “Ms. Pine, you are a vision. A muse. I’m going use you as the inspiration for a character in my next novel.”

He’s not wrong. She looks stunning in her torn jeans and off the shoulder top. She always does.

“Given that your characters have a habit of ending up un-alived, I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or not.” Rilla grins at him as she crosses the room.

His expression becomes serious as the grave. “My dear, I would never allow you to become a fictional casualty.”

“I think that’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

He gives my girlfriend a grandfatherly hug and hands her a very old-looking bottle of alcohol. “For you,” he says, actually tipping his hat at her. “And for the man of the hour, the day—what the hell; let’s give you the entire weekend.”

I accept the gift Stuart passes me, carefully unwrapping the bright yellow paper to reveal a familiar hardcover book.

“Is this a first edition?” I turn the book over in my hands. It looks like the original artwork, but for a twenty-five-year-old book, it appears to be in mint condition.

I already own two copies of Death Trap. One is the beat up paperback I’ve had since I was fifteen and the other a re-released tenth anniversary special edition. It was the first book Stuart published and the first of his that I read. I’ve read it at least a dozen times since then; I could probably recite it from memory.

“No. It’s the first edition. The first copy off the press in nineteen-ninety-eight.”

I balk. “I can’t accept this, Stuart. It’s too much. And it’s yours.”

“It was mine. Until I gave it to you. Thirty seconds ago.” He shakes his head and tuts at me. “Your memory is worse than mine. Rilla, are you certain he’s the one you want?”

The bright smile she gives me goes right to my heart. I may be turning thirty-three, but somehow she makes me feel like a tongue-tied teenager.

“Oh yeah,” she grins. “He’s it for me.”

I’ve always been aware of my privilege. I come from a wealthy family, had a first-class education, and have never had a lack of opportunities. But this is the first time in my life I’ve truly felt fortunate. To have someone I’d give up anything and everything for, and to have her looking at me the way she is right now.

So goddamn lucky.

“Well, if you change your mind, you know where to find me,” Stuart sighs and gives me a shrug. “Where are the mini detectives?”

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