𝕭𝖎𝖑𝖑𝖎𝖔𝖓𝖆𝖎𝖗𝖊'𝖘 𝕭𝖎𝖗𝖙𝖍𝖉𝖆𝖞

Riel's apartment building.

ᏒᎥᏋᏝ

"Three of my coworkers are in the hospital," a factory worker tells me. "A pipe cracked, and management did nothing to fix it."

I squirm at the image of workers getting third degree burns from the acid leaking from the large stainless-steel pipes, and valves running through the factory.

"Why still come to work? If it's not safe." I blurt.

"I have a family to feed," the man scoffs. "And we all can't have a safe desk job."

"Sorry," I shout as he marches away.

"Here's the full report," the factory manager hands me a thick binder.

I consider the thickset man, feeling disgusted by him.

"Why do you have people working in this mess?" I ask him. "You can't treat hardworking people like this. It's sick. I'm going to make certain that Mr. Harlow knows about this."

"Tsk," he picks food out of his teeth. "Your boss already knows about this."

"You're lying," I tell him. "He wouldn't . . ."

"He wouldn't what?" he breathes the smell of onions in my face. "You think a billionaire cares about a bunch of factory workers? He knows about working conditions."

"He doesn't," I insist. "If he knew he couldn't have sent me here. He wouldn't let people work like this."

"Don't be naive, kid," the greasy-haired man laughs. "Your boss could've shut the factory down, but lining his pockets with a few more millions is more important than the people that work for him — you included."

The man is an idiot, he doesn't know Harlow. Harlow wouldn't have sent me to the factory if he knew about the leak. Harlow wouldn't put me in danger.

It all sounded right in my head. But it takes simplest of things to open your eyes to the truth.

He's kissing her?

There he is ... kissing her.

I stand at the far side of the room, watching as Mallory leans into Harlow, her french manicured hands resting on his chest, her lips pressing against his.

I step back, pushing myself away from what I had just witnessed. I should've remembered. I shouldn't have fooled myself.

She's his fiancée, his childhood best friend. Why would I trick myself into thinking I could compare? I am just another employee. I'm just like any of the workers at the factory. Harlow doesn't care about their lives, and he couldn't care any less about mine.

I make the mistake of kneeing a round entry table, and a large porcelain vase falls off — breaking.

"I don't know anything," I yell at Harlow. "But I know one thing, I'm done being your assistant."

One minute I'm breaking pottery , the next minute, I'm breaking the career that I left my home for.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

"If an employee resigns before completing one year of their two year contract, they must pay a fine ..." Felix recites the clause in my employee contract.

"A fine?" I crumble my resignation letter.

"Yes," the VP of HR nods. "Up to $7500."

I'm not paying money to quit my job, that's crazy.

"But, Mr. Harlow and I aren't getting along. I think it's best if I'm no longer his PA," I tell her.

"I understand that," she says. "But you still have to pay the fine if quit."

"Okay," I sigh. "Thanks for the information." I hang my head in defeat, and head for the door.

"Wait, Riel," Felix calls me back into her office. "I have an idea."

"What is it?" I ask her.

"Sebastian's PA is going on maturity leaf. I'll let you be

his assistant, until she gets back." She says. "Some time apart might give you and your boss the chance to settle your grievances."

"Thank you," I cheer.

"Riel," Felix voices. "You're really making a name for yourself in the company. And board is going to look at which employees will receive funding to further their education. Don't leave the company prematurely, and lose out on the opportunity."

I nod my head in understanding, and leave her office.

Sebastian wasn't in the office for the day. So I spend the work day, transferring calls, taking his messages, sorting his mail, and a bunch of other boring stuff.

I wasn't near my work bestie, so I pass time chatting to myself, and a printer.

"Why won't you print?" I curse at the printer. "Stupid printer."

"Beep," the printer's rebuttal is an error message.

"Huh," I scoff. "I can't believe ... I'm quarreling with a printer."

"You could quarrel with me instead," Harlow leans his lean frame against the edge of the glass door.

"Hello, Mr. Harlow, how can help you?" I ask him in a sickening professional tone.

"You could start by coming back to me," he says in an

almost cooing voice.

"Why would I do that?" I roll my eyes at him.

Mr. Printer does a terrible job at guarding me, and Mr. Harlow pulls near me.

"Because you're angry at me," he takes my hand in his, brushing his thumb over my knuckles, "and it's for all the wrong reasons."

"Huh, tell me," I snort. "What are the right reasons?"

He tilts his head, tracing my hand over his jaw. "They'd be me forgetting where I have kept something, and you helping me find it for the hundredth time. Or because I keep you up at night on the phone, even though you're sick of me for the day." Harlow pauses, a paling smile reaching his lips. "Or because you think that I'm mean, or that I'm too moody. Remember how you called me a forty-year-old Oscar the Grouch?"

I retreat my hand from his hold. "Doesn't sounds like me," I lie to his face.

"Summers," he insists."You're showing me your anger, and I don't deserve it."

"Don't you?" I scoff. "You'd rather choose getting some stupid report over my safety."

"You can't seriously believe that you think that I would do that?" Harlow shakes his head."You of all people should know me better than that."

"Me?" I ask him. "Why would I know anything about you? You're the same Mr. Harlow to me like you're to any other of the people on your payroll."

I set my mind on walking out of the copy room, but Mr. Harlow swings back in his arms. "Look me in the eyes," he instructs me." Look me in the eyes, and tell me that you actually believe the nonsense you're saying."

"Yes," I reply. "I actually b-bel-," I can't bring myself to meet his eyes, "ieve- it."

I don't seem to know what I'm saying.

"See that," Harlow points out. "You can't even sell that lie to yourself."

"Leave me be alone " I free myself from his hold, and pirouette outside.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

He's actually got on the train?

"What are you doing?" I ask him. "Do you even know where this train is heading?"

Harlow blinks. "I don't," he says with a steely glint in his eyes. "But I'm sure you'll give me directions."

"Don't try your luck," I groan, folding my hand around the subway role.

"I can't even begin to think that I could ever be unlucky around you," Harlow says, closing his palm around the back of my hand.

He manages to stir a blush in my cheeks, but I go back to ignoring him. I've done it at work for two days now, I'll just have to replicate that very same tenacity here, and anywhere else in my life he shows his stupid face.

I'm going to just ignore his stupid face with its sharp cheekbones, strong jaw, soft inviting lips, and piercing eyes that hold you captive. I fear, I'm making a failed effort at ignoring him.

"You know," Harlow catches my gaze, a knowing smile curves his lips as the train rumbles beneath us, "there's plenty of track left. Take your time . . ." he leans closely to unsettle my composure. "I'm not going anywhere."

"I wasn't . . ." I stop myself from lying. I was staring.

But who could blame me? Definitely not the two NYU freshmen recording him.

"You're being recorded?" I casually tuck a loose loc of my hair behind my ear, titling my head at the phone pointing at us.

Harlow gives me a slow deliberate smirk. "Seems like they know a good thing," he says. "Don't you want to say the same?" He rests his forehead on mine, for the entire train to see.

"No," I tell him.

The train comes to stop at Penn Station, and I use the opportunity to give Harlow the shake. He tries getting out behind me, but he gets lost in the crowd of ranting

passengers shifting uncomfortably around themselves to get out of the train.

As the doors close, and the train starts for 28th street.

Harlow shoots me a disquiet look through the grime-stained window.

"Bye-bye," I mouth.

I blow Harlow a kiss to taunt him, but he catches it,

sticking the kiss to his cheek with a grin as the train carries him away. Somehow, I think he's winning.

I text his driver to meet him at the next stop, and go about running errands for Sebastian.

By time I finish lugging a ten-pound bouquet of white roses around New York for Sebastian's surprise to his fiancée . . . It's a new day.

I have a few hours to detox my hair,  get a re-twist, and get back to work.

"I think, I could rock a buzz cut," I tell my hairdresser.

"You'd chop off your locs?" She asks.

"I w-w-would," I flinch as she gets a bit heavy-handed with the hot oil.

"You can't cut your locs," she pleads. "Your hair is too beautiful for scissors."

"What about a razor?" I ask her.

"Shh," she groans. "You just can't cut your hair."

Sometime later in the afternoon, I wave goodbye to the ladies in the salon. I step out of the shop, bumping into Tod, one of Harlow's driver.

Tod opens the door to the Jaguar XJ.

"I want to talk to you," Harlow says from the back seat. "Get inside."

"No," I tell him. "I'm not getting in."

I sigh. I can't believe this madman is stalking me.

"I swear," Harlow gets out of the car. "You're going to drive me mad."

"You're already mad," I say, walking away.

"I'm only mad because you're making me," he follows after me. "You're angry at me, and you won't even give me a chance to defend myself."

"I'm not interested in what you've to say," I wait for the pedestrian crossing light to come on.

"Don't listen then. Answer me honestly," he says in an hoarse voice. "Do you really think that I'm as awful as everyone else does? Or . . ." He takes a step in front of me, searching my face. "Is it something else? Are you jealous of the kiss you saw — and you just won't admit it to yourself? Because you can't imagine how much it hurts me to know you could even think that I don't care about you."

"Mr. Harlow, sir, don't ask me anything," I say to him. "Because, I don't want you to care about me."

"Fine," Harlow says, his voice breaking. "If that's what you want."

He pauses, his eyes expecting me to say something that would stop him from believing me. For a split second, I almost say something, almost reach for him, but I can't bring to myself admit that he's right. So, I turn away, leaving him standing there.

I don't go back to work, I go home, and cry to myself.

I can't be in love with my boss. Harlow has the world in his hands, and I'm just ... here, trying to build mine.

I'm two hours into re-watching Friends, and closing popups from websites offering beautiful Russian girls, when there's a restless banging on my front door.

I climb back into the apartment from the fire escape to check who's at the door.

"R-Riel-l-l-l," a man slurs my name.

"It couldn't be?" I ask myself.

I refuse to believe that my boss is at my door right now.

I bite my nails, thinking it through. I shouldn't even be considering opening the door.

"Sir, you've crossed all limits," I scold Harlow as I open the door.

"Don't scold me," Harlow leans against the frame, his tie loose, and shirt wrinkled. "You're always scolding me." He breathes the scent of whiskey in my face.

"How did you get here?" I sigh. "I'm calling your driver to come get you." I look around for my phone.

"No," he stumbles into my apartment. "I want to stay with you."

"Yeah," I scoff. "That's not happening." I close the door behind him.

"Stop yelling," he moans. "I can't think right."

"Obviously you can't," I agree. "Because you can't show up here like this. It's not appropriate."

He stops himself from tripping over his own feet, and turns to look at me with glassy blue-gray eyes. "Stop scolding me," he insists.

"I'm calling your brother," I head for my phone on the window still.

"You hurt my feelings," Harlow murmurs. "You walk away from me. You don't look at me. You don't answer my calls." He counts the things I have done all on the same finger. "You broke my heart."

Harlow sinks into my couch, head in his hand. For a minute, I think he might pass out, but the he looks up, his expression raw. "You broke my heart."

"You said that already," I tell him.

"Well, you should hear it," he stands unsteadily, taking a closer step to me. "You're the one thing that makes sense in my life. And I'm not done fighting for you."

"Sir, you don't know what you're saying," I voice.

"Today's my birthday," he says. "Did you know?"

"Your birthday isn't until tomorrow," I tell him.

"It's already tomorrow," Harlow says.

He's right, it's minutes after twelve.

"At least don't be mad at me for my birthday," he begs.

I close my eyes, my heart is warring with head and my head is losing.

"Okay," I give in. "I won't be."

"G-good," he falls back onto the couch.

I come back from the kitchen with water for Harlow to drink.

"Here," I hand him the bottle of water. "Drink this."

"What is it?" He asks.

"Whiskey," I sit beside him on the couch, uncapping the bottle for him. "Drink it."

"It tastes funny," he says between sips. "I don't like it."

"Drink it," I say.

"Okay," he finishes the water in one go.

After a while, Harlow starts making my shoulder into a pillow.

"Will you stay put?" I scold him for moving his head around every second.

"You're mean," Harlow moves his head to my lap.

He kicks off his shoes, and spreads himself across the couch.

"Don't make yourself at home," I say to him.

He has the nerve to chuckle. "Too late."

"Go to sleep," I touch the few stray grays falling across his forehead.

"You're pretty," he grins lopsided. "But really blurry."

"I'm blurry because you're drunk." I sweep my thumb across my his overgrown stubble.

"But you're always pretty," Harlow's flushes red.

He hugs my hand to chest, makes a permanent pillow of lap, and snores into the early morning.

So, I have gone from wanting nothing to do with my boss to planning a mini birthday party for him in my own apartment.

I walk out of my local dollar tree with party supplies. A drunkard makes himself at home in my apartment, but instead of throwing him out, I'm throwing him a party for two.

After running out of bakeries to convince in selling me a last minute birthday cake, I Uber fifteen miles from Brooklyn to find a Rose's Sweet Treats.

"Kai?" the sweet spoken lady come from the back of the bakery café with a familiar smile. "What's keeping you from visiting your old friend?"

"I'm not your friend, sorry," I let her down. "I'm Riel. I came all the way from Brooklyn to buy a cake."

"Wow," the woman examines my face closely. "You're really not Kai?" She's really adamant about me looking like her friend.

"Not him," I tell her. "I just have one of those faces."

"No, you don't," she tells me. "You're Kai's twin, or his sibling."

"All of my siblings live in Connecticut," I'm starting to reject my trip to her shop. "Can you sell me a cake or no?"

"What type of cake are looking?" She asks. "And when do you want it by?"

"A birthday cake," I say. "And right now."

"Huh," she says. "You should try the grocery store."

"Please," I insist. "I came this far."

"Okay," she says. "Lucky for you, a customer canceled an order last minute."

She ducks into the kitchen, leaving me to be tempted by the showcase of dessert. I ignore them, I won't let my sweet tooth cost me my waistline.

"Here you go," the flour covered woman returns with a box in her hands.

"How much do I owe you?" I'm happy with being able to score a cake that I didn't even have any questions about its taste or design.

"Sixty," she answers.

"You're an angel," I give her the cash, and bolt with the with the cake.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

รɦαω

"Surprise!" A mob of party-goers scream at me when I walk into my house.

"Why the hell are you people in my house ?" I ask.

"Your guests," Mallory laughs. "You're turning forty at midnight. You should say adios to your thirties with a party."

Mallory's party of trespasses cheer at her answer, their defeating laughter grate against my nerves. I grab my ex by the wrist, dragging her away from the party.

"What are you doing?" I ask her in an angry whisper.

"Surprising you," Mallory answer. "You should know that I appreciate you very much."

I had enough of her appreciating me. If she had just kept her damn mouth to herself ... Riel wouldn't hate me right now.

"I don't want this party," I tell her. "Get them to leave."

"Shaw, I can't do that," she gasps. "I'd be embarrassed in front my friends, business partners . . ."

"I don't fucking care," I raise my voice at her, sending the waiters scrambling out of the kitchen. "I'm telling you to get them out of my house."

"Shaw?" my brother shouts for me. "Where is the old man?"

"He's in here," Mallory gives away my location.

She walks back out into the party, a saccharine smile on her face. Mallory makes a scene of being at home, playing the good hostess, acting as though she still has the right to celebrate me.

Sebastian finds me, throwing a kiss on my cheek. "I knew you'd be trying to hide from the party."

"I hate surprises," I say to him. "Surprise parties even more."

"Liven up," Sebastian insists. "Come have a cigar with and a couple of the guys here."

"I'm good," I let him down.

I pull a seat at the bar in the living room, and order a gin and tonic from the bartender.

"Keep them coming," I say.

Riel wants nothing to do with me. He doesn't want me to care about him? Fine, I won't care about him.

Doesn't he know that it's very wrong to break a man's heart?

"Don't fall in love with Riel," I give the bartender a long lecture. "He's mine. Plus, he'll break your heart."

I show him Riel's picture on my phone. "See him. Don't let his pretty face fool you. He's evil. He's breaking my heart, and he's going to break yours too."

"I'll stay away," the bartender slides an old fashion into my hand.

The cocktails keep coming.

So, I drink. A lot. Enough that parts of the night blurs, and my head starts getting too heavy for my body.

When I couldn't take it anymore, I leave the party. Not stopping to thank my well-wishers for their toasts.

"I want to see him," I tell my driver.

He doesn't need to hear a name. He doesn't need to ask for an address. He just drives.

I don't usually get out of the car. I just roll the windows down, and wait. Riel usually comes at around twelve to read a book on his fire escape.

I'd watch him for while, and dream about having my arms wrapped around him while he flips the pages of the book he's reading.

I would've usually left by now, but tonight I'm not in my senses, and get out of the car.

It's a wonderful dream, the kind of dream that ends too quickly. I open my eyes, but my dream isn't fading.

"I wish," I talk to my hallucination of him. "I wish you were the real Riel."

"I'm the real Riel," Not Riel insists.

"No, you're not ..." I chuckle. "You're the knock-off."

"I'm the real thing, you schmuck," he slaps my face.

"Hey!" I touch my twinging cheek.

His slap actually hurts?

"How's that for real?" Riel asks me. "Get off me." He pushes me off the couch onto the hard ground. "Idiot."

I get myself up from the floor, almost tumbling back at the force of the pulse beating in my head.

"I'm in your?" I look around the unfamiliar room.

"Yes, you're in my apartment ..." Riel confirms, taking a glass of water to me. "Here," he gives me a two blue pills in a bottle cap.

I toss the medicine in my mouth, washing their bitter, chalky taste with water.

Riel raises a questioning gaze over me.

"What's wrong?" I ask him.

"Nothing," he tells me. "Just wondering how long it'll take the poison to work."

"Really?" I ask nervously.

I wouldn't blame him for killing me. He'd be saving me the misery of having to live without him.

"Jeez!" Riel laughs. "At least give me the benefit of the doubt. It was ibuprofen."

I make my way over to Riel, wrapping him in a hug.

"I'm sorry," I whisper to him. "I'm sorry for following you around. I'm sorry for crossing lines with you. I'm sorry that I can't seem to stay away from you."

"Sir—,"

I talk over Riel. "You won't have to see me again," I say in a shaky breath. "I won't show you my face at work, or anywhere else."

"It's your company," Riel tells me. "I'll have to see my boss's face at some point."

He pulls away from me.

"I'm sorry you have to," I apologize.

I ruined it. God, I have ruined everything. I stare out at the empty street below his apartment. Snippets of last night returning to my memory. I remember stumbling up steps, and slurring words that didn't make sense.

What kind of a man shows up drunk at a person's door to convince them not to leave him? Not a man at all. Just . . . a mess.

"I should leave," I turn away from Riel.

"Sir," Riel holds onto me. "Did you hear me asking you to leave?"

"No," I whisper.

"Don't leave then," Riel pulls me back.

Riel leads me away from the door, back into the living room.

"Are you sure?" I ask him.

"Yes," Riel leaves me at the couch, turning into his bedroom, then carries out a blanket and pillow. "It's still early in the morning," he says. "Some more sleep might help with your hangover."

I listen to Riel, sleeping off hangover or at least most of it.

I bite back a smile. I'm in his apartment. I get out the couch, getting familiar with the home. Riel should've given the boot this morning, because I certainly don't want to leave now.

Quaint, quiet, perfect. His little apartment is pretty much asking me to become a permanent occupant.

I pick myself up from the red velvet loveseat, hitting my knee on the sold wood coffee table.

"Shit," I hobble across the brightly polished floor.

"Don't destroy my furniture," Riel says, coming out of the bathroom.

"I'm not—," I forget what I'm saying.

Riel adjusts his shirt, brushing out the wrinkles from his waist. I drop back onto the couch, watering at the mouth at how flawlessly the frayed edges of his top, and the band of his pants sits on his waist.

"I found these clothes for you," he shows me the outfit under his arm. "You're free to use the shower."

A cold one would be nice.

"I'd like that," I sniff my arms.

"Here," Riel hands over the clothes.

"Thanks," I shift uncomfortably.

"Are you okay?" Riel's eyes narrow at me.

"Uh-huh," I cover my crotch with a cushion, hiding my member that's saluting him.

"Mm," Riel says. "I left a toothbrush, towel, and wash cloth on the sink for you." He points to the bathroom.

"Where are you going?" I ask, watching him grab keys from a side table.

"I'm going to get us breakfast," he answers.

"I'll come with you," I fix my pants.

"Why?" Riel tilts his head to the side."You don't want to share me with the other stalkers?"

"That's not it," I panic.

"I'll be back soon," Riel says.

In the next breath, he twists the doorknob and leaves through the door.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

I had almost given up on having a showering. Riel has so many options of shampoo, I'm in a hair salon rather than a bathroom. I inspect bottles of every shape, size and color lined out the shelves, each promising some kind of miracle.

I finally pick at random. I'm halfway through lathering with bodifying shampoo, when I spot a bottle of good old 3-in-1 having a peep at me.

The strong scent of amber, and sandalwood follow me out of the shower. I tied the towel loosely to my waist, hoping that Riel would be in the living room when it inevitably slip off my body. But he isn't back yet to fall victim to my planned accident.

Having gone commando, I push my head through the t-shirt that Riel gave me.

"Send flowers to this address," I tell the temp that had taken over Riel's job, over the phone. "My driver will collect them from you at the office."

"What kind of flowers?" She asks.

"Red ones," I answer. "But they shouldn't be roses."

Riel would freak at roses. Roses are bit too on the nose, too romantic for right now.

It feels like Riel is never coming back to his apartment.

And I start to worry that I'm right then the flowers get home before him.

"Sir? Can you open the door?"

I stop fretting after hearing his voice outside the door.

"I'm not supposed to let in strangers," I tease Riel, looking for somewhere to hide the bouquet.

"It's my apartment," he yells.

"Really?" I act shocked. "Where's your key?"

"I can't reach it right now," he says. "Will you just open the door?"

The door gives way under my touch, exposing Riel as he struggles to keep of the different bags in his hand.

I try taking some of his load, but he scoffs at my help and waddles into the other half of the living room that has the kitchen.

He puts the bags down, and treads over to me. "I want you to stay out there for a minute," Riel gestures to the fire escape.

"Why?" I ask him.

"Because I said so!" He tugs my arm, pulling me over to the emergency exit. "Don't come back until call you. I mean it."

Riel opens the window, blowing cold morning air onto us. "Go one, get out there."

"I'm going," I fit myself through the window.

I'll turn fifty by the time I get off this fire escape. I had almost forgotten that I'm a fresh forty today. Let's hope that I can score a date with Riel before I'm older.

Would it be too pitiful to ask him for a date as birthday present?

"You can come now," Riel appears at the window. "But close your eyes."

"What are you trying to hide?" I let myself back inside.

"Shh," he ignores my question. "Close your eyes." Riel reaches my face, closing my eyes for me. "Keep them shut."

Somewhere between the couch, and the TV stand, Riel forces me to stop.

"Can I open my eyes now?" I ask.

"Not yet," Riel sighs. "Sit."

"When can I ?" I sit onto the stool he places behind my legs.

"You're so impatient," he scolds me. "Open them."

°˖➴   Shaw's look for his birthday.

I blink my eyes open to the sight of Riel standing a feet away, a blue kiddie's party hat in his hand.

"Surprise," he smiles brightly, blowing a party horn in my face.

I prop myself around the small kitchen table. "What's this?"

"Your birthday party," Riel steps closer. "But it's okay if you don't like it. It's was probably a silly idea anyway."

I catch urgently him in my arms. "No, it wasn't." I hug him, feeling afraid to let go.

How does someone make another person so happy?

I would break my jaw if my smile spreads any broader.

"You don't have to lie," Riel mumbles.

"I'm not lying," I tug him in front of me so he could see my face. "I love it."

"Do you really?" He frets. "I won't feel bad if you d—."

"Shh," I put my finger on his lips. "I said I love it."

Riel does my favorite thing, and smiles. He puts the hat at the top of my head, and pulls the string around chin."Happy birthday," he wishes me softly.

"Thank you," I stroke his cheek.

"You're welcome," Riel curls his fingers into my palm.

"You don't even realize how prefect you're," I whisper my thoughts to him.

"I ... uh ...What? Prefect? Me?" He rambles nervously. "Someone prefect wouldn't have forgotten the cake in fridge." Riel loses no time getting to red colored retro fridge.

"Learn how to take a compliment," I tell him. "I don't want you running away every time I open my mouth."

"I wasn't running," he whispers.

Riel brings the cake over to the table, the box crinkling slightly as he sets it on the table.

He unfolds the corners of the box from cake.

"Aah," Riel gasps, looking at the cake.

He tries to rebuild the sides of the thin box.

"What are hiding?" I drag the edges of the cardboard, stealing the cake away from him."Who'd have thought that I would make a such great decision while drunk?"

I read the neat piping of 'happy birthday, my husband' on the cake.

I wrest a blushing Riel between my tights. "I might not remember our wedding, but I'll make up for it in ways you won't ever forget."

Riel rosy lips are inches away from mine. It's been such a long wait. And it seems only fair that I get to kiss him right this moment to make up for not remembering the kiss from our wedding.

"Sir, don't be silly." Riel moves out of  my hold. "I got this cake at the last minute, it wasn't intended for you. We didn't get married. You're still my boss."

That's dang disappointing.

"How about a promotion?" I run my hands around the sharp cut of his hips.

Riel rolls his eyes at me, stretching across the counter to get two birthday candles. He makes my age, sticking the number four, and zero shaped candles in the cake.

"Make a wish," he says, after lighting the candles.

I wish for the day he'll call me his husband.

"Hoooff," I blow out the candles.

"Hold it right there," Riel urges me, snapping pics of me on a Polaroid camera.

He sets the camera aside, waiting for photographs to develop.

"Aren't going to cut the cake?" Riel hands me a bread knife.

I make a clean cut into the cake, and bring the slice to his lips."I want you to have the first bite."

"It's your birthday," Riel whispers.

"Indulge me," I tell him.

Hesitantly, he leans forward and takes a bite, his lips warming the sides of my fingers.

"Good?" I ask in a low voice.

"Yes," he replies, swallowing quickly. "Try it, and see."

Riel motions for the other side of table, but I stop him.

"Not so fast," I tell him. "It's only fair that you feed me too."

"Sir!" He protests, blushing brightly.

"I can't eat it then," I sulk.

"Since it's your birthday," Riel picks a piece of the slice of cake that I fed him from, and lifts it to my lips.

"Mmm," I taste the buttery, vanilla and coca flavors of red velvet on his skin. "Sweet." I'm not talking about the cake.

"Was it good?" Riel distances his fingers from my lips.

"You don't know the half of it," I smile.

I almost won the last breakfast nacho, but I look away to my chiming phone and Riel swipes it from me.

"I'll get you back for that," I promise Riel.

I collect my phone from my pocket, accepting my brother's call.

"What is it?" I ask Sebastian.

"Oh nothing," he scoffs. "Wanted to call, and remind you how much of an ass you're."

I sigh, bringing the call with my brother out of Riel's ear.

"Sebastian," I rub the vein forming in my head."What are you bitching about now? I'm in a very good mood. And I don't want you to spoil."

"You're in good mood?" He asks me. "Is that what you get from embarrassing Mallory?"

"How did I manage that?" I frown. "Tell me quickly. I'm busy."

"You left your own damn birthday party," he mouths. "Mallory put all that effort in — guests showed up for you and you bailed. Imagine how embarrassing it's to plan a party for someone, and they don't even bother staying. She's your ex now, but come on . . . She still deserves your respect."

I listen to his speech silently, smelling the flowers that I got for Riel. I hadn't given them to him yet.

"Apologize to her for me," I tell my brother. "The party I'd rather be at is waiting for me." I start for Riel with the flowers in my hand.

"Bye ... I'll see you at work on Monday." I hang up on my brother.

Stepping up quickly behind Riel at the kitchen sink, I tap his shoulder.

"Yes?" He doesn't turn to look around at me, focused on getting tea stains out of a mug.

I settle my arms around Riel's waist, pulling his flush against me as my chest presses gently to his back.

"These are for you," I show him the red tulips.

"Sir, they're beautiful," Riel takes the bouquet. "Thank you."

"I'm glad you like them," I whisper. "Let's hope you'll like this as well." I reach in my pocket for a white gold, and sapphire bracelet.

"Sir, I couldn't," Riel rasps. "I still haven't gotten over the watch that's worth more than I've earned working two jobs for a whole year."

"Stop fretting," I slide the bracelet over his wet wrist. "It's just a simple eighteen carats."

"It's your birthday," he mutters. "You should get the gifts. And now that you've given me this," Riel pouts.

"The gift I got you seems cheap, and silly."

"It isn't," I tell him.

"You haven't even seen them," he reminds me.

"I know it isn't," I reassure him. "But at least show it to me."

Riel contemplates for a minute or so, before he plucks open a drawer.

"It's a really silly gift," he gives me my present.

I take the gift, undoing the bow tie and unfolding the wrapping paper from over a box

"What are you so grumpy about?" I read the title of the book that falls out of the gift. "It's a child book?"

"Yes," Riel mutters. "Read it whenever  you decide to get in a bad temper."

I pull out something else from the gift. I brush tissue paper from over a candle, quirking my brow. 'YOUR THIRTIES HAVE EXPIRED' , the candle reminds me.

"I found it funny," Riel blushes.

I chuckle under my breath. "Thoughtful. What's next?"

There's one more thing.

Reaching into the box, I pull out a neatly folded apron.

I hold it up, gaping at the name 'Mr. Grumpy' written bold letters across the front, and an angry blue cartoon character beneath them.

"Isn't he cute?" Riel giggles. "I couldn't help thinking of you when I saw him in the store."

"You find me cute?" I ask him.

"On some occasions," he answers.

"You give the best gifts," I praise him. "I'll have to keep you with me for every single one of my next birthdays."

"How do you plan on doing that?" Riel muses.

"You'll find out soon enough," I tell him.