Bonus Chapter
At the trailhead, I stop and drag in a lungful of crisp mountain air, pine and earth, a sharp bite of altitude that makes my chest expand like I could swallow the whole damn sky.
God, I love this.
The way the peaks claw at the clouds, the way the wind smells like freedom. Living twenty minutes from trails like this? Best decision we ever made.
“I hate the outdoors,” Grey grumbles from my left, thumbing through menus on the fancy new smartwatch strapped to his right wrist. The left one still carries Grandpa’s ancient analog, the one he refuses to retire.
Oliver chuckles while Amelia pushes up on her toes to plant a kiss on Grey’s cheek. “Don’t be like that. It’ll be fun. And think how cool it’ll be to see Jamie react to all the live health data on the go.”
I grin. A fitness-watch giant practically begged us to integrate Jamie into their system.
Normal trackers can nag you about heart rate, sure, but can they talk back?
Can they hear you wheezing and go, “Misha, darling, slow your roll, or you’ll blow a gasket,” then instantly recalculate your VO? max, predict muscle fatigue, and suggest the exact micro-pause to keep you in the fat-burning zone while simultaneously ordering you a post-hike burger with extra cheese because you’ve earned it?
Exactly.
Grey scowls harder. “I just don’t understand why we have to beta-test this on your birthday. We could’ve gone somewhere with linen napkins, ordered something I didn’t have to cook, then peeled the birthday princess out of a dress in a five-star hotel room. Maybe even caught a movie first.”
Amelia’s laugh bubbles up. “You know what? We’ll do exactly that on your birthday. Peeling the birthday princess out of a dress included.”
Grey’s glare could melt steel, but two seconds later, he’s got her by the waist, kissing her like he’s trying to win an argument with his tongue. Oliver and I trade a look and snort in unison.
I lift my arm. “Jamie?”
“Yes, Misha?” Jamie’s voice is crisp, cheerful, and straight out of my watch.
“Please start hike tracking for the crew. We’re heading up the ridge trail.”
“With pleasure! Planning the full loop to the summit?”
“Spot on.” I grin and start the hike, the others falling into step beside me.
“It’s sixty-six degrees, sunny with scattered clouds,” Jamie announces. “Perfect weather for a four-hour adventure.”
Oliver chokes on air, and Grey halts mid-step. “Four hours? Are you kidding me? You said two hours max, Misha!”
Whoopsie.
I flash my most innocent grin, purposely ignoring him. “Amelia, birthday Bug. How’s the weather inside you?”
She beams up at me, cheeks already pink from the altitude. “Was sunny, but the four-hour bombshell just rolled in a couple clouds.”
“Don’t worry. Time flies when the company’s this pretty.”
“Elevated heart rates detected.” Jamie chirps three and a half hours later.
For the fifth goddamn time.
His tone is perfectly polite, and perfectly oblivious to the murder eyes boring into the back of my neck.
If looks could kill, I’d be a smoldering crater.
“Amelia, yours is the highest,” Jamie adds helpfully. “Please consider a brief rest or reduce pace.”
I glance back. Amelia’s ponytail is hanging on by dear life, and her glasses are a little fogged up. She catches my eye and flops dramatically onto the ground off the trail, arms spread like she’s making a snow angel in dirt.
“That’s it. I’m done. Leave me for the bears.”
“Yeah.” Grey drops his monster backpack with a loud thud—seriously, what does he have in there, a cast-iron skillet?—and sits on it like a throne. “Fuck this.”
Oliver huffs a laugh as he wipes his glasses on his shirt, and I feel a pang of guilt.
Okay, maybe I undersold the vertical gain.
“It’s only a little farther, I swear, ten minutes max…” I start.
Oliver lifts his wrist. “Jamie, time to summit?”
“Approximately thirty minutes remaining, Oliver! The final push is steep, think of it as nature’s stair-master with a view that’ll make your glutes forgive you.”
I cringe. “It’ll be so worth it—”
“Nope.” Grey cuts me off, stands, and offers Amelia his hand. “We’re turning around. Fancy restaurant, air-conditioning, and dessert instead of trail mix.”
Amelia takes his hand, and he pulls her to her feet. She’s still visibly winded, but determined.
“No! We’re so close. I want the sunset. My feet are just… protesting.”
Before Grey can play white knight, I shrug off my pack and shove it at Oliver—who frowns like I just handed him a sack of bricks—and grab Amelia’s pack to throw it at Grey. He catches it on reflex, but opens his mouth to probably tell me exactly where I can shove it.
But I just crouch, patting my back. “Hop on, Bug.”
“No way, I’m too heavy!”
“Please. I deadlift you for fun on leg day.” I wiggle my shoulders. “Come on. Birthday piggy-back.”
She hesitates one more second, then scrambles up. Her thighs clamp around my waist, arms looping over my shoulders, and suddenly the extra weight feels like nothing because she’s warm and smells like sunscreen, Twizzlers, and home.
Oliver mutters, “Great, now we’re each carrying an extra twenty pounds of backpack karma.”
Grey flips me off but falls in step behind us, grumbling under his breath about “stubborn mountain goats.”
We trudge onward, and it isn’t long until the chirp of the birds sounds more like mocking, because damn, my quads burn, and sweat is dripping down my spine. But then Amelia distracts me by kissing the spot behind my ear and resting her chin on my shoulder, and I shiver.
All four watches buzz at once.
“Elevated heart rate detected,” Jamie announces cheerfully. “Misha’s the highest.” Amelia’s laugh vibrates against my back, and Jamie adds, “Amelia’s has actually steadied.”
Oliver wheezes a laugh, Grey snorts despite himself, and I roll my eyes as my chest warms.
Four hours, murder eyes, piggy-back rides, and no regrets.
Best birthday hike ever.
I hate this.
But when I glance sideways and see Amelia on Misha’s back, cheeks flushed, ponytail bouncing, laughing at something Oliver just muttered, my grumpiness fizzles out.
With her next to me, everything is doable.
With her, even this godforsaken mountain feels like a Sunday stroll.
We crest the final ridge, and the world opens up. The sun is bleeding gold across the valley, and Misha whoops like a kid. Amelia squeals, kicking her legs until he sets her down, while Oliver drops his and Misha’s pack with an exaggerated groan.
“Tent,” Misha declares, already unzipping bags. “Before the birthday Bug changes her mind and demands a five-star hotel.”
Amelia reaches for the bags. “I can help—”
I catch her wrist, stopping her offer because there’s no way. “Birthday princesses don’t pitch tents.”
Misha snorts so hard he nearly drops the tent bag. “Oh, she pitches tents all right.”
Oliver chokes on a laugh, turning it into a cough behind his fist.
Amelia’s mouth falls open, cheeks going pink. “Misha!”
I reel her in before she can swat him, crushing her against my chest. She makes that little surprised squeak I live for.
“And what are you, then?” she asks defiantly, but breathy at the same time. “Also a birthday princess, since you’re just standing there looking pretty instead of helping?”
Brat. I kiss her hard and claiming, then nip her bottom lip just sharp enough to make her gasp.“I have something way more important for you to do.”
She melts instantly, fingers curling into my shirt. “Oh yeah? Like what?”
Misha whistles low. “Get a room, you two. Oh wait, we’re literally building one.”
I cut a quick glare at him.
Idiot.
Amelia blinks, pupils already blown like she really thinks I’m about to do her. “But we haven’t even eaten yet.”
I smirk. “Love where your head’s at, but no.
” I release her so I can shrug off the monster backpack—Jesus, finally—and unzip it.
Out comes the foldable 49-key MIDI keyboard I ordered custom, with a carbon-fiber frame, a built-in battery pack good for twelve hours, and no external power needed.
I even wrapped the damn thing in a towel so it wouldn’t rattle.
Misha stops mid-pole extending and just laughs. “You absolute maniac.”
Oliver adjusts his glasses, fighting a grin. “You carried that the whole way?”
“You…” Amelia’s mouth actually falls open, “… you brought me a piano up the mountain?”
“I brought you a keyboard,” I correct, setting it up on the wooden picnic table right next to the firepit. I drop onto the bench, hit the power button, and tap out a few quick notes to make sure the thing still works after the hike. “You play on your birthday. Tradition’s tradition.”
She stares at me like I’ve hung the moon, then scrambles over and drops straight into my lap, making me grunt.
But then her weight settles warm and perfect against me, thighs over mine, back to my chest, and my insides melt.
I bury my nose in her hair and breathe in the London fog tea, a little sweat, and sunshine like oxygen.
Mine.
Her fingers hover over the keys for a moment before she picks out the melody she always plays when she’s happy. “Clair de Lune” by Claude Debussy. I slide my arms around her waist, holding her close, letting the music and the altitude and the fact we’re here, all four of us, sink into my bones.
After a minute, I can’t resist any longer. I reach around her, wedge my hands into the tiny strip of keys she’s left free on the high end, and plunk out a goofy counter-melody, three notes off-beat on purpose. She giggles, the sound vibrating through her back into my chest, and elbows me lightly.
“Stop sabotaging my masterpiece, Doctor Donovan.”
“Never,” I murmur against the side of her neck, kissing the spot that makes her shiver. My fingers dance over the keys again, deliberately bad, and she laughs so hard she has to stop playing.
Misha’s got the tent half-up and is filming us on his phone like a proud dad. Oliver’s sitting on a log, watching us as well.