“Honey and mustard,” he says. “Not honey mustard.”
Her eyes swing from the condiments to Wilder, and she still doesn’t say anything, but her icy expression melts to its normal state of general boredom. Taking this as a good sign, Wilder kisses the top of her head, promises to come up with a better fake position for her in the office, and pours two large fries onto one plate. “Let’s get this fucking party started.”
We don’t need to stand in line at the bar for our drinks. Talent raises his hand, and a server appears at the table to take our order, returning minutes later with more bottles of alcohol than we can possibly drink ourselves.
Doesn’t mean we don’t try.
Champagne is like drinking diamonds, whiskey like bark, but tequila goes down as hot as firelight. The warmth and energy of a hundred suns flow through my veins, and I fear nothing. The darkness can’t touch me when I burn this brilliant… or when I’m seeing double.
“One more! One more!” Lydia tries to take the bottle, but Talent snatches it from the table first and holds it out of reach. Clear liquid sloshes inside the glass container like the waves during an ocean storm, from side to side, round and round. “Baby, come on. She only turns twenty-one once.”
Holding my hair off my neck with one hand, I fan my warm face with the other. The lights have turned down as the music has grown louder, the beat pulsating through my body with the rhythm of my heart. Wilder slides his chair right against mine. My leg presses against his, and he brushes his fingertips down my arm, tilts my chin up with his knuckle, and when he’s really brave, Wilder rests his hand where my thigh meets my knee.
As much as I love this dress, I wish I’d worn a shorter one.
“I can handle one more, Lydia.” I drop my hair over my shoulders and smile when Talent whoops and pours everyone at the table another shot.
“It’s not you I’m worried about,” Lydia says with a half-smile, resting her palm against Talent’s cheek. He turns his face and kisses the inside of her hand. Their tenderness only serves to make me hyperaware every time Wilder finds another reason to touch me.
Liquid silk runs over the brim of our shot glasses, trickling down our fingers as we toast to only turning twenty-one once. Lydia, Talent, and Wilder toss theirs back and swallow in one seamless motion, skipping a chaser and barely flinching at the burn in their throats. Blame it on lack of experience, but I’m not as graceful. I take my shot in two drinks, squeezing my eyes closed and shaking my head after swallowing the first half. I lose most of the second attempt out of the corner of my mouth. Wilder catches it in the palm of his hand before it stains my dress, and then he fixes my crown.
The lights never go out, but the music gets too loud to sit around a table any longer. “Dance with me,” I say to Wilder. He twists in his chair to look at the dance floor, full of moving bodies, and I know what he’s thinking. I promise, “They can’t have you. You’re all mine tonight.”
For someone who was locked inside a dark closet for most of my life, dancing comes as naturally to me as breathing. I surrender to the melody and tempo booming from the sound system, and I drift away on bass and treble. It’s easy when I burn this bright, and when the man moving alongside me is as gorgeous as Wilder Ridge.
My backside is flush with his front side, and I feel his chest rise and fall against my skin as he breathes, like I feel the steady beat of his heart pressed between my shoulder blades. I swing my hips and sway, dropping my head back against his shoulder and closing my eyes. Lifting my arms above my head, Wilder brushes his fingers from my wrists to my elbows before circling his arms around my waist and whispering into my ear, “Look up, birthday girl.”
People on the dance floor part like the Red Sea, making a path for a three-tiered birthday cake crowned with candles that shoot gold sparkles from the top tier like a meteor shower. Wilder takes a step back to allow Lydia the space to stand beside me as the cake is wheeled in on a service cart. The light bursting from the candles reflects in her eyes, and Lydia smiles, clapping slower than the pace from the rest of the party.
She leans in and says, “The cake filling is Nutella.”
Wilder laughs and says, “Stop ruining all the fucking surprises, Lydia.”
The entire party sings “Happy Birthday,” collectively trailing off at the part of the song that requires a name. And Talent leads the choir, taking a picture of me with his cell phone in one hand, clutching the neck of the tequila bottle in the other.
For a passing moment, I’m in North Carolina watching blue candle wax melt into pink strawberry frosting. Mom’s voice sings the clearest, but Daddy’s is the loudest in the beginning and in the end.
“Make a wish, honey,”Mom says.
“Blow out your candles before Talent does, Camilla.” Lydia tries and fails to take the bottle from Talent again.
Closing my eyes, I’m hyperaware of Wilder watching me on my left. And I can hear Lydia and Talent fighting over the tequila on my right. Most of my wishes have already come true, but there is one more thing…
I wish that I could have this moment for life.
As soon as the candles are out, the cake is wheeled away to be cut, and the lights turn down. The lanterns hanging from above provide a warm, romantic glow that complements the tender gratitude that fills me all the way up. Starting with a gold box and a red bow and finishing with gray eyes and a sly smirk.
When the lanterns go out, I’m not afraid.
Wilder is with me.
Lydia storms off in the direction of the DJ booth, saying, “I told them not to turn the fucking lights off.”
She has the tequila bottle now.
Wilder laughs, but I can’t hear the sound of it over the music. I close the space between us, hoping not to miss the whole thing. When my body presses against his, he dips his head, and I tip mine up. A kaleidoscope of color suddenly brightens the dance floor and moves in sync with the beat of the music, turning Wilder’s expression to stained glass.
“Come with me,” he says.
