Page 100 of The Problem with Dating

“You made me dinner?”

“Yeah. And don’t say you’re not hungry because if you stay awake past midnight, you’ve earned a second dinner.”

“I told Cole you’d make me dinner. I mean, I was lying just to get him off my back, but I didn’t think you’d…” My heartbeats raced faster and faster. My Cujo made me dinner. “That’s really nice, Alex.”

“Don’t cry, Goldie. Just get two plates, will you?”

He was learning me so well that he knew when I was on the brink of tears. I did as I was told and grabbed a few plates. “Wine?” I asked. “I have some cheap bottles in my cabinet.”

“I brought a bottle, too, from work. Sit. I’ll serve you.”

I’ll serve you.

I didn’t think he meant for those words to turn me on slightly, but alas. Turned on, I was.

I took my seat, and my stomach instantly rumbled as he took the lids off the food. Second dinner wasdefinitelya thing when it came to Alex’s food. I wished this could be a tradition from here on out.

He made my plate and set it in front of me. “Honey glazed chicken and a kale brussels sprout salad. For dessert, a birthday cake,” he explained.

I giggled a little. “A birthday cake? That seems random.”

“It’s not that random, seeing as how it’s my birthday. Well, was, up until an hour ago.”

I slammed my hands against the table. “Wait, what?! It’s your birthday?!”

“Was,” he corrected. “An hour ago.”

“Alex! Why didn’t you tell me! I would’ve made you a cake. I would’ve gotten balloons. I would’ve—”

“Done too much, yes. That’s why I didn’t tell you. You seem like the type of person who loves birthdays.”

“Uh, yeah. That’s because they’re birthdays. Birthdays are a big deal.”

“They’re just days.”

“They’re important days.”

He shrugged. “Not to me. My great-aunt always made them a big deal, too. She always went over-the-top.”

“How old are you?”

“Thirty-five.”

“Thirty-five?” I blurted out, almost shouting as I tossed my hands in the air in shock. The dogs stirred from my shout but went back to sleep quickly. Their cuddle fest must’ve been a good one. “Your thirty-fifth birthday is today, Alex, and you didn’t tell me?!”

“Yesterday, if you want to be technical.”

“I don’t want to be technical. Oh my goodness, it’s your birthday. It’s your birthday, and you cooked me dinner. Everything about this situation is wrong. I should be making you mac and cheese and ramen.”

He smiled, made his plate, and sat beside me. “I wouldn’t eat your ramen, Yara.”

“I bet you would. You see, the trick is draining the water slightly and adding a slice of American cheese and—oh my gosh you’re thirty-five! Thirty-five is a big birthday, Alex.”

He laughed. “To who?”

“To me! Every birthday is a big birthday. Even half birthdays are big birthdays to me.”

“Eat,” he urged. I didn’t. He picked up my fork, sliced my chicken, and shoved it into my mouth. “Eat,” he ordered.

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