Page 36 of Single Mom's Bikers

“Says the man who sketches her constantly.”

“Both of you shut up.” But Rick’s smiling. “We’ll do it at the gallery. After hours. Small, just family and friends.”

Family. The word feels right.

“Speaking of family…” I start, but they both wave me off.

“We know.” Chase stretches. “Saw your truck this morning.”

“About damn time,” Rick adds.

Yeah. About damn time, indeed.

13

EVIE

It’s my birthday today.At least, that’s what my new driver’s license says. August 15—a random date Rose picked because“you look like a summer baby.”

My real birthday passed three months ago. Celebrated in a Nebraska motel room with grocery store cupcakes and prayers that Luca wouldn’t find us.

But Violet and Daisy burst into my room singing “Happy Birthday,” and their joy is real enough. Some lies are worth telling when they put those smiles on my daughters’ faces.

“Mama!” Violet bounces on my bed. “You’re old now!”

“Thanks, baby.” I pull her close, breathing in her strawberry shampoo. “Just what every woman wants to hear on her birthday.”

“She means you’re wise,” Daisy corrects, ever the diplomat. “Like how trees get rings every year.”

“Speaking of years,” I keep my voice casual. This is our morning ritual: “How old are you girls now?”

“I’m six!” Daisy says proudly. “Born April twelfth.”

“Four!” Violet raises four sticky fingers. “December third!”

New birthdays, new names, new lives. They recite them like favorite stories now, not lies that keep us alive.

My phone buzzes. Rose’s message makes me smile:“Happy birthday, Evie Ashbourne. Coming over with cake.”

The name still feels strange sometimes, like clothes that almost fit but not quite. Elena Delgado sits in the back of my mind, whispering about real birthdays and real names and the man who made us run.

Rose arrives as I’m fixing breakfast, carrying a chocolate cake that probably costs too much—but who cares when it’s Luca’s money?

“Blow out the candles, Mama!” Violet claps.

“Before school?” But I’m already reaching for matches.

“It’s tradition.” Rose’s eyes hold understanding. We both know it’s not, but some traditions are worth inventing.

The girls sing again, their voices filling my kitchen. When I close my eyes to make a wish, I almost forget it’s not my real birthday.

Almost.

Work feels different. The gallery’s staff keeps giving me odd looks. Chase disappears whenever I get near his studio. Zane, usually glued to my office door with excuses to chat, is mysteriously absent.

Even Rick acts strange, buried in paperwork that somehow requires my filing cabinet to be off-limits.

Only my daughters’ morning ritual grounds me. Their innocent acceptance of our new story makes it feel real, and it makes me feel real.

---