But he never did.
She was so overflowing with love she thought it must be beaming out of her eyes and mouth, seeping out of her pores. She thought everyone everywhere must have been able to smell it on her. But no one did, not even Raven, too distracted and tired to remark on what must have been a lightbulb glow wreathing Cass’s face at all times.
She’d never been happier in her life. Shep didn’t say as much, but he smiled more than she’d ever seen, and it took ten years off his handsome, rugged, wonderful face.
Twenty
The morning of her twentieth birthday, Cass woke alone, the smell of bacon permeating the air. She pulled on the hoodie Shep had left casually/not-so-casually draped over the bedpost and padded down the hall.
The first thing she noticed was the small, shoddily-wrapped stack of presents on the coffee table. Wrapped in newspaper no less. Hovering above this, its string tied to a table leg, was a very non-birthday Garfield balloon that declared he hated Mondays.
It was the most charming thing she’d ever seen in her life.
“Shep!” she exclaimed, heart squeezing.
“Nuh-uh,” he called from the kitchen. “Don’t touch those, presents are for tonight. Breakfast first.”
“You’re not any fun at all,” she complained, grinning, as she skirted the table and headed toward him.
He turned from the stove and slid a pancake out of the skillet and onto an already-formed stack of its fellows. He’d clearly showered and shaved already, his hair gelled up and his cheeks smooth. He smiled and waggled his eyebrows. “Nah, I happen to know I’m a shit-ton of fun.”
“Well, yes,” she conceded, and climbed onto the stool across from him. “What’s all this?”
“Birthday breakfast,” he said, proudly. He dropped the skillet in the sink and pointed to the plates. “Pancakes, bacon, eggs, apples. All your main food groups.”
With his hands braced wide on the edge of the counter, and his black wifebeater so stretched in the neck she could see the scattering of hair on his sternum, the only thing she wanted to eat was him.
She swallowed hard and said, “I can’t eat all this.”
He pulled two forks out of the drawer and hip-checked it shut. “Yeah, I’ll help.”
He came around the bar to take the stool next to her and dragged the plates closer.
Before she dug in—and the man could make a killer pancake—Cass leaned sideways and wrapped both arms around his waist.
He kissed her forehead, and let his lips linger there when he murmured, “Happy birthday, babydoll.”
Because they both had busy days, plus dinner plans, she pulled reluctantly back after a long minute and dug in.
“What time do we need to be at Raven’s?” he asked between bites.
“Six. So we’ll have to go straight from campus.”
“Yeah, okay.”
Shep had continued to attend every Wednesday night family dinner, and apparently, they weren’t projecting any sort of fucking-and-living-together energy in front of Raven and Toly, because neither of them acted like anything was different. It didn’t therefore feel like a risk to bring him along for her birthday dinner.
“Anything exciting happening for you today?” she asked, not really expecting an answer.
His face went smug. “Maybe.”
Cass set down her fork and turned toward him. “What’s that look?”
“What look? This is just my face.” He gestured to it, even smugger. “Pretty handsome, huh?”
“Pretty shit-eating. What are you up to, Francis?”
He hummed a non-answer. “Eat your eggs before they get cold.”
