Page 55 of Dear Pink

“Can I haveanything?” I tease him and wiggle my eyebrows.

“Anything.” His eyes grow wide, remembering last night too.

“Pineapple?”

“We’ve got another weirdo in the house,” Gina says, overhearing my request. Heat rushes to my cheeks. Will I ever acclimate to his sisters’ verbal volleyball?

“You guys are the weirdos,” Gabe says, grabbing my hand in his unconscious tender way. “They think pineapple on pizza is disgusting. The fools,” he says, nibbling on my ear.

And I’m under a magic spell again. “Barbarians.”

Gabe wraps his arms around me, and I’m bound to him. This moment seems fated. Does he sense the spark too?

As Gabe and I eat our pineapple and bacon pizza, the sisters chastise us the entire meal. I grow accustomed to their ribbing and recognize the sweet undertones now. This is what siblings experience, true connection.

After they clear the dishes, his family waits outside at the picnic tables for dessert. Gina comes out of the house, singing and holding a cake on fire. Candles blaze across the round decorated cake. I search for the birthday girl and am surprised when they drop the platter in front of Gabe.

I lean into him and mumble, “Why didn’t you tell me it’s your birthday?” I’m the odd one out again. One second we fit together like a key in a lock, both on the same page, and the next like oil and water.

“I didn’t want to freak you out. You would have thought it was a birthday party and run for the hills.”

“Itisa birthday party.” I smirk and narrow my eyes at him. He’s right, though. I would never have said yes to a family birthday party, even in my sex coma. My embarrassment softens at the ingenuity of his plan. “How old are you?”

“Thirty big ones today,” a sister yells. “Come up for your birthday tugs, big brother.”

“Hugs?” I ask.

“Uh, no. I wish. Tugs. We have a strange Russo birthday tradition.”

“Yeah, he gets ear tugs for the years he’s been alive,” Franny says, holding a tiny wooden stool with Russo embossed on the top.

My stomach flops. “Only you get tugs, right?”

He chuckles. “Yep, only me.”

Giovanna points to the stool in the front of the tables. By the way she smirks, I gather they have a particular sibling rivalry between them.

I take out my camera and snap a few photos while his mother, his father, and each sister tug Gabe on the ear. His face glows bright red, but he takes the tugs willingly.

His dad points at me conspiratorially. “Me?” I ask, laughing. “Are you sure?” Gabe gives me a thumbs up, and I playfully skip over to take my turn.

Afterward, Gloria high-fives me, and Giovanna yells, “Hannah’s a keeper.” And in an instant, I fall in place again, the key in its lock.

While Gabe opens his presents, which are hilariously themed scrubs—another Russo tradition—I take out a pen and a scrap of paper from my purse to sketch. I don’t notice when Gabe returns to the table until I catch his familiar scent of sunlight and fresh air.

“That’s extraordinary,” he says, his mouth close to my ear.

I finish the last bit of shading on his profile and glance up. Our lips waver inches away. I lick mine, and he does the same. Our energy fuses, and he leans closer. I can’t pull away from his orbit.

“I didn’t get you a birthday present,” I say between shaky breaths.

“This is the best present ever.” He kisses me, soft and gentle. My hands reach for him, forgetting my previous insecurities and inhibitions and the million sisters sitting nearby. Gabe does that to me. I lose myself in happiness, and I relish the sensation.

“Get a tree, you two,” I hear from behind us, probably Giovanna—I’m beginning to appreciate that girl—and his family laughs. I can’t help but laugh too.

Chapter 16 - Hannah

4. Play your guitar and sing at Café 210’s open mic night. You’re cringing as you read this item. It’s time, Hannah. You’re amazing. Let other people experience your talent.

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