Page 123 of Brew
Since moving out of Tag and Luna’s apartment, I’ve managed to save more money and do less at work. Nova was happy for the extra hours, and Mama Dawson calls me every other day. I like her a lot. She’s rough and loud, but she has a good heart. And she loves Olive, already calling her her granddaughter.
I smile at the memory of all of us having dinner together a few weeks ago, and Mama asking when we were gonna make a baby. Much to Olive’s embarrassment, I admitted we were trying. We try every day. Brew is insatiable, and I can’t say I mind one little bit.
I light the candles, finishing the last one just as he cuts the engine to his motorcycle.
I still get the jitters whenever I know he’s about to enter a room. This man is everything, and our bond has only gotten stronger.
When I hear the front door creak open, I make a mental note I need to spray the hinges. Making the cabin a home has become my mission in life. We love it.
“Erica?” he calls out. It’s a ritual. He always calls my name.
“In here,” I call back, lifting the cake from the plate as I hold it in front of me.
He stops in his tracks when he sees me.
“Happy Birthday.” I beam.
His mouth parts, but then closes again, then, “You made me a cake?”
I nod eagerly. “I know chocolate is your favorite.”
“Who told you that?”
“I’m observant.”
A small smile crosses his face. “I see.”
“Now you have to blow the candles out and make a wish,” I remind him.
“Right.” He walks toward me. “What if I have everything I want right here?”
“You’re too sweet.”
“Many would beg to differ.”
“They don’t know you like I do.”
He looks down at the cake, then back at me. “You baked.”
“I love cooking for you, and baking is something I’ve always enjoyed.”
I don’t know what look crosses his face, but he looks a little sheepish, palming the back of his neck. “Am I in trouble?”
“What for?” I grin.
“For not tellin’ you it was my birthday?”
“Yes. I don’t know how anyone wouldn’t want to celebrate such a momentous day; the day you were born.”
“It’s just another day.”
“No,” I say. “It’s not. It’syourbirthday, it’s something to celebrate.”
Brew looks back down at the cake, then takes in a huge intake of breath, blowing the candles out in the next. He closes his eyes for a second and makes a wish. “There.”
“Now, remember, you don’t tell me what your wish is, or it won’t come true,” I say.
“You really believe in those superstitions?”
