Page 71 of Butterfly Effect

“Good to know you give everyone annoying nicknames.”

“Don’t kid yourself,” he says through the smirk that sits against my jaw. “Freckles is special to you and only you. Now, smile. We’re about to sing.”

Embarrassment fills my cheeks when they start off-key, the men unabashedly cracking their voices and the women sticking their fingers in their ears. I can’t stop smiling. Laugh after laugh escapes from me. It’s a genuine and much-needed catharsis from the tangle of everything I’ve felt all night. Finally, they quit goofing around and sing in a crescendoing chorus at the end.

When I lean over to blow out the candle, Indi elbows me.

“You gotta make a wish first!”

Someone sedate this woman, seriously. She’s far too cheery. Though I’m one to talk. I look like I’m off my rocker with the wide smile tugging at my mouth.

I wish Wade Boehner would kiss me again.

I steal a quick glance at him and extinguish the flame before I have time to change my mind.

You’re so stupid, Gabe. Wishes don’t come true.

He cuts me a piece. It’s super attractive for some reason.

“Feed her!” Indi instructs. “It’s a desi tradition! With your hands!”

Woman is wilding.

“Don’t you dare smear it on my face,” I warn Wade with a pointed finger.

“That’s what she said,” he mumbles.

Okay, I’m slightly less attracted to him. But I won’t say no to cake, and not while everyone’s watching us.

His Adam’s apple drops as I take a large bite of the slice. Those smug brown eyes of his grow dark. I’m about to step away as he wipes his hand on a napkin, but he pulls me back.

“My turn.”

“See? He knows!” I don’t think I’ve ever seen Indi this overexcited. Landon Radek has done a number on her. “Feed him, too!”

I reach for a fork. He stops me again.

“That’s not what I meant.” One strong arm rounds my waist, drawing me closer until our torsos are flush.

My jaw relaxes into his grasp, lips parting by reflex.

“Finally!” Skylar claps quickly. “You two have barely held hands tonight.”

“Gabe?” Wade asks.

“Do it!” Indi eggs on. “Kiss!”

“Kiss!Kiss!Kiss!” They chant.

“Happy birthday, Freckles.”

His breath fans across my nose.

My lashes flutter, incapable of focusing on anything but his perfect, bow-shaped mouth.

“You don’t have to do this.”

“Yes, I do.” He releases another ragged breath. I don’t. I’m not breathing at all. “Tell me it’s okay.”

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