Chapter 15 #2
It’s this type of note that twists me up inside, which pisses me off. I dislike complex emotions. Anger? I can handle. Sadness? I morph it into anger. Happiness? I welcome.
But confusion? Immediate frustration.
I berated myself for not getting snow tires on her car weeks ago. It wasn’t until she mentioned a slide out leaving the ranch that I lent her my truck the next morning and brought it to the shop demanding a same-day appointment.
She shouldn’t have even had to mention it. I should’ve already had it taken care of for her. She may not be my woman, but she’s mine to take care of and protect.
She may not be the mother of my child, but she’s the closest thing to a mother that Harper’s ever had. And for that? I owe her a hell of a lot more than fucking snow tires.
I wrench open the refrigerator door to find, yep, a perfectly packaged lunch with reheating instructions.
Looks like I’ll be enjoying my birthday lunch with a side of self-loathing.
The work day’s nearly over, and all I want to do is hug my daughter and rot away on my couch with a beer.
The store’s been dead quiet, but I stay open right until close, just in case someone needs something for a weekend project. Not that my part-timer wouldn’t be able to handle it, but I don’t like closing early. If I’m anything, I’m reliable and steadfast.
My phone vibrates, and my stomach flips when I see the name on the screen. Mia.
I know for a fact this is the first time she’s texted me since I failed to communicate with her via text. Panic rises, but if something was wrong, she would’ve called.
Mia: The girls have been baking up a storm with Cecelia since we got here after school. I don’t want to ruin their fun. Do you mind meeting us here for dinner? The meat I thawed will keep until tomorrow.
Impromptu meals at the ranch are commonplace. When your circle of family and friends live on the same acreage, plans materialize out of thin air.
Me: No problem. Closing the store now. Need me to grab anything from the house?
Mia: Nope, I think we’re good!
I could make the drive to Lucky Spurs Ranch blindfolded in a blizzard, having done it thousands of times in my life.
Mia’s car is parked out front of the main house, and after the day I’ve had, I’m grateful I don’t have to go searching for the girls.
The house is quiet when I enter, leaving my boots and jacket by the door.
It smells incredible, something Italian, so I follow my nose toward the kitchen.
Mia steps into view blocking my path. I can’t take her in fast enough. Her golden waves trail over her shoulders, more defined and styled than I’m used to.
She’s wearing makeup. I don’t think she wears a lick of it normally and it draws my attention to how much her eyes look like glimmering sapphires, framed by dark lashes and something shimmery.
Rather than sinful yoga pants or molded jeans with a casual top, Mia’s wearing a grey, curve-hugging sweaterdress. It’s snug but modest, with a high neck and long sleeves, ending mid-thigh.
Those fucking legs. Creamy skin peeks out between the hem of the dress and the fuzzy socks pulled up her calves.
“Hi,” she says, fidgeting with the cuffs of her sleeves.
I clear my throat, rusty from not speaking for the past couple of hours. “Hi.”
“Happy birthday.” The two words I’ve been dying to hear from her tangle me in emotions I can’t name. It’s because they came from her sweet lips, not in a text or generic greeting card.
“How did you know?” Dumb question, there’s no secrets at Lucky Spurs Ranch.
“Everyone’s been abuzz about your birthday dinner tomorrow. But I figured out today is your actual birthday when Olivia came to check on her horse, Maisey, this morning.”
That tracks. My sister has a big mouth. Not that I mind. I don’t hate my birthday, I just don’t see much use celebrating a middle-aged man turning another year older, having accomplished nothing noteworthy.
“What’s going on?”
The fact that Mia’s greeting me, dressed so nicely, and that the quiet house smells like my favorite food all adds up to something like celebrating my birthday.
“Everyone insisted that making a big deal out of your birthday was a no-no, and that the dinner tomorrow night was all you’d tolerate.” She takes a step closer to me, and her inescapable sweet scent courses through me.
“I grew up in a home where birthdays weren’t celebrated, and I vowed to break that pattern when Everly was born.
Everyone deserves to feel cherished, especially on this one day a year where the people who love you show gratitude that you’re on this earth.
So, I insisted that I throw you a proper birthday celebration today. ”
I tense with unease, dreading people popping out, singing, hugging me, and overall making a spectacle. Mia steps back and leans in to the kitchen, retrieving…a beer.
“The guys said this kind is your favorite,” she says as she hands me the ice-cold can.
“Now, before you try to fight this, let me tell you what’s on the agenda.”
Agenda. There it is. This isn’t going to be anything I enjoy, and I’m already worn down from a long day. My teeth grind, and I try to take deep breaths through my nose to stay calm.
She gives me a small grin, immune to me being a grumpy asshole.
“I’ve made an ungodly amount of chicken parmesan, and for dessert, I didn’t think you’d be keen on blowing out candles, so instead I made you peach cobbler.”
My rage-spiral stops on a dime.
“Everyone is here to celebrate you but have all agreed to not act like fools and have a low-key evening. I wanted everyone to enjoy a movie night, the girls included, and James said your favorite childhood movie was Flubber. So, I bought it on the TV in the den and it’s cued up and ready to go whenever you want. ”
My chest tightens with grief. My dad took me to see Flubber. I haven’t watched it since he died.
Mia’s blue eyes search mine for any reaction to her plan.
I’m dumbstruck by the effort she put in to making my birthday special in ways I’d appreciate.
I’m overwhelmed with memories of my dad, torn between wanting to run away from them, or share them with my daughter.
I feel cherished, just like she said everyone should on their birthday.
I’ve taken care of myself for the past twenty-six years, never putting myself first, and it feels… nice.
This woman is remarkable. She’s been unknowingly chiseling away at my expertly erected walls for months and just broke through with a gesture more profound than she’ll ever know.
“Lead the way,” is the best I can manage when my heart’s stuck in my throat.
The smile that lights her face will be written on my soul in indelible ink.
She reaches out and takes my hand, interlacing our fingers, pulling me into the kitchen.
Electricity zaps up my arm, this being the first time she’s initiated any form of affection with me, and the depth of her offering isn’t lost on me.
I’m such a goner.