Page 4 of Writing Mr. Right

“Girl, be for real,” she retorts, though there’s a playful tone to her voice. She pokes me in the thigh with her foot. “I haven’t had any plants die recently!”

“Because I water them for you,” I say. “If it weren’t for me, they’d be sad and dead.”

Emily pouts. “Damn. Ididthink it was kind of suspicious that they were greener than the last batch…”

“You know what? Who needs men or agents.” I hold my hand out to her. “We have each other.”

Emily laughs and grabs onto my fingers. “Hell yeah!”

We give our jostled hands a good shake, then let go. Emily gathers her hair into a bun. “So, your birthday is tomorrow but you haven’t said what you’re doing yet.”

I freeze for a second but quickly recover. “I wasn’t planning on doing much,” I say. I lean forward and place my bowl next to Emily’s on the table. “I’m just going to my parents’ house for dinner and then coming back home.”

“It’s yourthirtieth birthday!” she protests, her jaw hanging open. “You can’t spend it doing nothing.”

“I’m not doingnothing,” I correct. “It’s a weekday, and my family is planning a proper party for me a few weekends from now. Plus, what am I gonna do? I don’t drink, and I don’t go clubbing. I’m a homebody. A meal at my parents’ place sounds nice.”

Emily chews on her bottom lip. “How about this? I wassupposed to have plans with Daniel tomorrow, but he’s pissing me off, so I’ll cancel on him, and then when you come home from your parents’, we’ll do something together. We can go see a movie or go to karaoke or something. What do you think?”

My heart swells. “I think you’re the best friend ever.”

“I know,” she says with a grin. Then she claps her hands. “Now, let’s make those sundaes, because I want to be so hopped up on sugar that I can’t feel anything.”

“Good call.”

Emily grabs the dirty dishes and I get up to help her with the sundaes. I grab the bag of goodies, take the ice cream out of the freezer, and place them both on the coffee table. I pull the ingredients out of the bag, then frown as I stare at the spread. Something’s missing. “Em, we had strawberries, right?”

“I think so,” she replies from where she’s getting bowls from the cabinet. “They’ll be in the fridge.”

I’m almost to the fridge when Emily suddenly gasps. She drops the dishes in her hands and dashes over to me. “No, wait! I’ll get them!”

“It’s not a big deal,” I assure her, my fingers wrapping around the handle. “I’m already here.”

I pull the door open just as Emily screeches to a stop, her hands grabbing onto the top of the door a second too late. The strawberries are in there, but they’re tucked behind what I’m assuming is the thing Emily didn’t want me to see—a gorgeous small white cake covered in red and yellow roses, with my name written on it in cursive. My lower lip pushes into a pout, and I turn around. “You got me a cake?”

She stifles a sigh at the clearly ruined surprise and lowers her arms. “Yeah,” she answers. “I didn’t have time to bake you one this year, and the good bakery is closed tomorrow, so my only option was getting it today.” She does jazz hands. “Surprise?”

I chuckle. “What was your plan? Keep me away from the fridge for a whole twenty-four hours?”

“It almost worked, didn’t it?” she retorts. “I didn’t let you cook today, and you never have breakfastorpack lunch.”

She’s right. I stare at the cake for a second, then take it out. “You know what? I could use all the sugar I can get. We’re going to have cakeandice cream.”

“But it’s technically not your birthday,” Emily points out.

I shut the door with a shrug. “My birthday’s in three hours. It’s close enough. Besides, all writers drown their disappointments in cake. I’m doing what writers do.”

“Fine,” she allows. “Okay, if we’re going to do this, then I have to get the candles.”

“You got candles?”

“Of course I did!” She runs over to where she left her purse on the kitchen counter. She rummages through it for a second before producing the box. “I know we never get them from the actual bakery, but today I had this feeling like I should. The lady at the counter said they’re—” she wiggles her fingers at me, her grin widening “—magic.”

I snort. “Magic? How?”

Emily drops her hands along with the charade. “I don’t know. I think she was just trying to sell them to me. They better be magic, though, because they cost me six dollars.”

My eyes bug out of my head. “Six dollars? You spent six dollars oncandles?”

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