Page 114 of Snake
Autumn had done some work on herself in the past two years as well. While she’d been more emotionally balanced than Cox, she’d had her own issues to sort through. She liked therapy, so she was doing most of her work there—and also talking things through with Cox.
But one thing that hadn’t changed: she preferred to know what was up ahead. So she did not follow Badger immediately. He’d pulled her a little, making her take one step forward, but then he realized she wasn’t coming willingly, and he stopped and turned to her, a question on his brow.
“Where is Cox? Where are you taking me? Are you expecting me to ride with you? Because—”
“Because Cox would break both my legs and set my bike on fire, no, I’m not expecting you to ride bitch with me.”
“That’s such a crappy way to say it.”
Badger gave her a puckish grin and otherwise ignored her. “I’m expecting you to follow me. Cox is at the place I’m leading you to. I’m not going to tell you where we’re going because that would ruin your man’s surprise.”
Oh. “Oh. This is a birthday surprise?”
She tried to imagine what Cox would think to do for a birthday surprise. Last year, he’d come into St. Louis for a long weekend, taken her to dinner at a small, upscale restaurant, and given her the gold necklace she hadn’t taken off since. Only the necklace had been a surprise.
Certainly he wouldn’t do a party. So what was he up to?
“Well, it’s a surprise on your birthday, so I suppose yes.” Badger tugged on her arm. “You in? I hope so, because I don’t want to show up without you.”
“Okay. Let’s go.”
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~oOo~
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She guessed where they were headed about two turns before they got there, but she couldn’t guess what it meant.
Then they arrived, and she saw.
Badger had brought her to the It’s a Wonderful Life house, which she now knew as the Dahlberg house. Balloons and streamers festooned the sagging, peeling wraparound porch. Mini-lights twinkled along the eaves, around the doors and windows, and wound around the trunk of the big oak in the yard. Light and music poured through the windows. He must have brought a generator over.
It was a surprise party. Knowing how she loved this zombie of a house, he’d somehow... what, borrowed it? Rented it? ... and was throwing her a party inside it. It was kind of uniquely Cox to choose a derelict old house to throw her a birthday party in.
Even so, the notion of her man throwing her—planning—a birthday party beggared comprehension. For all his gains in the past two years, he had not become an extrovert. The man could barely manage having friends over for barbecue. He must have had help.
And that help was here as well.
All the bikes and cars she’d expected to see at the clubhouse were parked along the curbs on both sides of the street. The driveway before the shambling old beauty of a house was clear except for a single bike: a beloved fifteen-year-old Breakout in near-mint condition. Now with an extended seat for a passenger.
The main ride of one Daniel William Cox.
As Badger passed the driveway, he gestured to her that she should pull onto it. She parked her Discovery behind Cox’s bike and climbed down from the truck. Then she stood there and stared up at the house, wondering, again, what the heck.
The front door opened—it was barely on its hinges—and Cox stepped out onto the porch. She saw it sag under his weight.
Then he smiled at her, and she saw nothing else in the world.
His smiles weren’t so rare anymore, but they remained precious as ever. Each one filled his whole face, made his beautiful eyes sparkle, took years off his age, and showed the bright light of his good heart.
She walked to her man. As soon as she took a step, he matched her, coming down the steps and along the broken walkway to her.
“Hey, babe,” he murmured as they reached each other. “Happy birthday.” He pulled her into his arms, and fifty pounds of life fell from her shoulders. That was always the way; no stressor seemed to matter much when she was with her man.
“Thank you.” She rose onto her tiptoes as he bent to her, and they shared a kiss both hungry with a week’s longing and restrained by their awareness of their audience.
“What have you done, here, Daniel?” she asked against his lips. That name no longer hurt him, but it remained rare. In fact, she was the only one who called him Daniel; it had become her main term of endearment for him.
