CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Michael
As a ‘famous’ person, I get lots of gifts and cakes on my birthday. Usually, it’s wrapped in extravagance and unbelievable luxury.
I’m talking designer watches I don’t remember endorsing, shoes too white to wear outdoors, gadgets I don’t know how to turn on, and twenty-two cakes—yes, twenty-two—each more over-the-top than the last. One came in a cooler packed with dry ice.
Another played the ‘Happy Birthday’ song when you opened the lid.
And I wasn’t planning on bringing any of them here.
I was planning to leave it all to the staff at the agency.
But I figured I’d take a few—four of the flashiest—to share with the neighbors. Maybe throw together a little feast. Order some food, beer, folding chairs in the backyard.
And then Kate walked in.
Or, well—she was trying to sneak out.
But she was holding something she personally made for me. Because she considered what I liked. And in that moment, I thought… everyone else can wait.
Now she’s sitting on my couch, curled into herself. She’s watching TV set to low volume—some nature documentary about jellyfish, I think—but I can tell she’s not really listening. Her eyes are somewhere else. Her mind is probably even farther.
I head to the kitchen and rummage through my mostly unused utensil drawer, and take two forks. I grab the cookie cake she tried to ‘un-give’ me and walk over.
“You know,” I say, settling into the opposite side of the couch, “out of all twenty-two cakes I got today, this is the best one.”
She blinks, looking up. “You haven’t even tasted it yet. It’s a little lumpy, since my mixer’s already seven years old. You share a birthday, by the way.”
“Happy birthday to your mixer. But I have devoured the cookies you bake every single day since I got here.” I look at her, deadpan. “Which reminds me,” I say, standing up, “we need milk.”
Kate chuckles.
When I return with the milk, we start eating in small bites. It’s good. Really good, actually. A little crispy on the edge, warm in the middle. Just the right amount of salt to bring out the sweetness.
“Thank you,” I say. “Really, Katie, it means a lot to me.”
She sets her fork down. “You don’t have to pretend it’s a big deal.”
“I’m not pretending,” I say, watching her carefully. “You made something with your hands. You thought about what I might like. That’s rare for me.”
She raises an eyebrow. “You got a cake with your face on it, Michael. And one that’s a full basketball court. How is this rare?”
I shrug, leaning back. “Because those are corporate. Branded. Someone’s assistant checked my name off a list. I only got those because I’m good at putting a ball through a hoop.”
Kate rolls her eyes, but I can see she’s listening.
“But this?” I say, holding up my fork like I’m presenting evidence. “This feels like something I’d get even if I wasn’t… me. Even if I were just some guy in town who got attacked by your cat.
She looks at me for a beat. “You are some guy in town who got attacked by my cat.”
I chuckle and watch her as she dips her fork back into the cookie cake.
Her fingers are smudged with chocolate, her curls slightly messy from lounging around.
She’s wearing pajamas and a white tank top.
She takes her glasses out and puts them on the top of her head.
And for some reason, everything she’s doing tonight makes my chest feel weird.
Because tonight, in the glow of the TV, and the way she has chocolate in the corner of her mouth, she’s… beautiful.
She glances at me from under her lashes. “I didn’t think you’d still be here.”
I tilt my head. “Where else would I be?”
She shrugs, playing with a crumb. “I don’t know. Fancy dinner. Rooftop party. Girls in red dresses and your name in gold balloons.”
“That was last year,” I say. “And the year before. And the year before that.”
Kate pauses. “And this year?”
I look at her. To be honest, I dreaded my birthday this year.
Maybe that’s why I forgot. Funny what this small village does to me.
I thought I’d spend my birthday alone and asleep in my room, but now I brought home cakes to share with everyone, and I’m on the couch with a beautiful girl who used to annoy me.
My past birthdays had velvet ropes and bottle service.
A few clubs even closed early just so I could walk in like a movie star.
I had a dozen people around me at any given time.
But even then… after the noise died down, after the last drink, I always felt like I forgot something.
Like I was supposed to be somewhere else.
Weirdly, now, I’m somehow in a bad place in my career, but I’m happy.
“This year, I’m actually where I want to be,” I say. “And that’s all thanks to you.”
Kate shakes her head. “You give me way too much credit.”
I chuckle. “No, I don’t give you enough,” I say.
When she looks up at me with a confused expression, I add, “When I first got the news that I had to do this during my temporary suspension, I was devastated. Mortified. Who wants to stay in a sleepy small town, working with children who scream when they lose a crayon? Not a star athlete who’s full of himself. ”
Kate laughs. “Let the records show that you are, in fact, still full of yourself.” She gestures to the cake with my face on it.
I let out a soft laugh. “Yeah, but now I don’t dread it. I actually like this place. The people. The early mornings. And the school.”
“That’s because of the children,” Kate says as she eats another bite of the cookie.
“No,” I say. “That’s because of you.”
She freezes.
I watch as she sets her fork down carefully. Her lips part, like she’s about to say something. But she doesn’t. Instead, she grabs the milk carton and pours herself another splash. “Well,” she says lightly, “clearly, the cookie cake is making you sentimental.”
She sips, avoiding my gaze, then wipes her mouth with a napkin. Something about the small gesture—mundane, unthinking—pulls me in. My eyes drift to her lips. The way they move, the shape of them, the soft curve. I hadn’t really allowed myself to notice before.
But now I do.
And before I can stop myself, I lean in slightly. Not enough to invade her space. Just enough to let her know I’m looking. I don’t even know why I’m doing this. I’m not even going to kiss her.
I can’t.
She’s never had a boyfriend. She’s careful with herself, guarded in this way that feels sacred. I’m not going to be the one who crosses that line on a sugar high and a whisper of honesty. I’m not going to blur this moment just because her lips are plump.
But then she moves.
Suddenly, impulsively.
She leans forward—just a little—and presses her lips to mine. I don’t even have time to respond because it’s quick. Light. One second, maybe two. A blink in the grand scheme of things.
And then she pulls back like she touched something hot.
I blink, stunned, and just as I’m about to say something, she bolts upright from the couch.
“Sorry, I—” she stammers, touching her lip like she’s trying to erase the evidence. Her eyes are wide with something between panic and disbelief. “You probably didn’t want that, I’m—”
My heart is still catching up. “No, I did. I–I do,” I say, almost breathless.
But she’s already spiraling. “Okay, but—” she flounders again, pacing now, arms crossed. “I thought I did. I thought I was ready for that big moment, but then when I actually did it, I panicked, and now my brain is spinning like a hamster wheel and I think I’m dying—”
“Katie,” I say softly.
She pauses, and I stand slowly, making sure I don’t startle her. “It’s okay. You didn’t do anything wrong,” I say.
She won’t meet my eyes. Her arms are folded so tightly across her chest it’s like she’s trying to hold herself together. “I thought I could… I thought it would be brave. Or—I don’t know...” She gives a small, breathless laugh that doesn’t sound funny at all.
“It was brave,” I say. “But you don’t have to explain. You’re allowed to change your mind. You wanted to kiss me at the moment, and you did, and that’s fine,” I say, even though a single second of her lips on mine made me breathless. “You’re allowed to test the waters and still be unsure.”
She exhales, slower this time. Still pink in the cheeks, still nervously tugging at the hem of her tank top, but calmer now.
She nods slowly. “Sorry if I made it weird,” she says.
“Don’t apologize,” I say. “Test the waters with me anytime,” I add before I even consider what it means.
She doesn’t say anything after that. Just stands there, staring at me. I don’t push her to talk more. I don’t try to unpack what that kiss was. I just try to help her calm down.
If it were up to me, though, I’d kiss her again. I’d lean down, pull her close, cup her face, and kiss her senseless.
But it’s not up to me.
It’s up to her. And she doesn’t want this.
“So… do you wanna help me invite everybody for cake in the backyard?”
Kate blinks, then smiles. “Okay,” she says.
We head toward the door, her steps still slow, but I match her pace. We don’t speak much as we move through the streets. The stars are faint tonight, but the breeze is light, and somewhere down the road, a dog is barking at absolutely nothing and neighbors are endlessly chatting.
We don’t talk about what the kiss means. Or what we’re supposed to do now. And I don’t push the moment. I don’t make a joke or reach for her hand.
I just walk beside her in the dark, knowing something small has shifted between us.