The Birthday

~ANNA'S POV

I barely slept. Every time I closed my eyes, I felt his hands on my face.

The smell of something burning wakes me. Smoke detector's beeping.

I run downstairs in my sleep shorts and tank top, not thinking about how little I'm wearing.

"James?"

He's at the stove, waving a dish towel at smoke. "Don't say anything."

"You're burning eggs. How do you burn eggs?"

"I was distracted."

"You made me breakfast."

"Yeah. Happy birthday, Anna. I do this every year so I wasn't going to stop now just because—" He stops.

"Because of... yesterday?"

"We're not discussing this today."

The eggs are charred beyond saving. "These are really dead."

"I noticed." He dumps them in the trash. "Get dressed. We'll do brunch at Marcellos instead."

"Sounds like a date." The words slip out before I can stop them.

He freezes. "Anna—"

"C'mon, I'm joking." I study his face. "Unless..."

"Thirty minutes. Go."

I choose a sundress, not the one from sophomore year, but close enough. Blue with small flowers. When I come downstairs, his eyes linger for a moment before he looks away.

"Ready?"

"Always."

We take his BMW, falling into our usual rhythm. He drives, I control the music.

At Marcellos, we get our regular table by the window. The waiter doesn't even ask, brings James his black coffee and my vanilla latte with extra foam.

"I need to tell you something," I say once we've ordered.

"What is it?" He looks concerned, probably expecting more Vanessa drama.

"I want to pursue acting. As a career."

His fork paused mid-air. "Acting?"

"I know you won't like it, but—"

"Anna..." He sighs, running that hand through his hair. "That world... people will take advantage of you."

"It's what I want. Not what you want for me." I lean forward. "It's mine, James. Something you

didn't arrange or pay for or make happen because you could."

He flinched slightly. "Is that what you think? That everything in your life is because of me?"

I didn't answer, but my silence said enough.

He was quiet for a moment, studying me. "You're serious about this."

"Yes."

He breathed, "We'll discuss it properly after today? Please? Let's just have your birthday first."

My phone buzzes. Text from Daisy: "Birthday girl! Send pics!"

"Daisy wants photos," I tell him.

"Of brunch?"

"Of us." I hold up my phone. "Come on, lean in."

He moves closer for the photo. My hand shakes slightly as I take the picture.

"You okay?" he asks, still close.

"Fine."

We spend the afternoon shopping on Fifth Avenue. He buys me everything

I glance at, designer clothes, jewelry, books I mentioned wanting months ago.

"James, this is too much."

"Nothing's too much for you." He hands his credit card to the sales associate without looking at the total.

"People are staring," I murmured, leaning close to his ear. "They think I'm your sugar baby."

James didn't flinch. He didn't step away. He turned his head, his lips inches from my forehead.

"Let them," he said.

A sales associate approaches with another bag. "Sir, the items you requested—"

"Thank you." He takes the bag without looking at her, eyes still locked on mine.

"What did you buy now?" I ask.

"You'll see later."

Later. The word feels loaded with promise.

We get ice cream at the place we've gone since I was eight. He watches me lick my cone and looks away quickly.

"Remember when I got ice cream in my hair?" I ask.

"Of course. Insisted you could eat and cartwheel at the same time."

"You cleaned me up. You always cleaned me up."

"Always." His voice is soft. "I'll always take care of you, Anna."

"I know."

By evening, we stopped at a red light three blocks from home.

"So, how was today?" he said quietly, his voice rough.

"It's lovely." Seriously, I didn't want this moment to end. Not like this. "Yesterday I said I'd ask for something and you'd say yes," I whisper.

"Yes."

"I want you to kiss me."

The words hang in the air between us.

James's hands tighten on the steering wheel. "Anna—"

"You said you'd say yes."

"That's not fair." His voice is strained. "You can't use that against—"

I lean across the console, close enough that our lips are almost touching.

He paused. "Anna, don't—"

I expected him to pull back, to stop me, to be the responsible one. Instead, his hand came up to cup my jaw, and he kissed me back, deep and desperate, until a horn blared behind us.

We break apart, both breathing hard.

The light is green. Cars are honking. The world didn't stop just because mine did.

James stares straight ahead, gripping the wheel hard.

"James—"

"Don't." His voice is raw. "Don't say anything right now."

He drives through the intersection. The silence is deafening.

We drive the rest of the way home in charged silence, both knowing we've crossed a line we can never uncross.

He pulls into our driveway, kills the engine. For a moment, we just sit there.

"I love you," he says finally, quietly. "I need you to know that. This isn't just... physical. I'm in love with you."

My heart stops. Restarts.

"I love you too," I whispered. "Not like a daughter loves a father. Like a woman loves a man."

Something in his expression broke open. He cupped my face, thumb stroking my cheekbone.

He kisses me again, softer this time. Sweeter. Like an apology and a promise all at once.

When we break apart, reality crashes back in.

We walked into the house in silence, the weight of what just happened pressing down on both of us.

"I'm putting these away," I say, heading for the stairs.

"Wait. One more gift."

"James, you've already bought me half of Fifth Avenue—"

"This one's different." He pulls out a small velvet box. "Turn around."

I set down the bags and turn, lifting my hair off my neck. My hands are shaking.

His fingers brush the nape of my neck as he fastens the clasp, and I have to bite my lip to keep from gasping. Such a simple touch. Why does it feel like

electricity?

"There," he murmurs, his breath warm against my ear.

I shiver.

"Cold?" he asks, but his voice says he knows better.

"No."

His hands linger on my shoulders. "Good."

I turn slowly to face him, touching the pendant. A delicate gold star.

"It's a star," he said, his voice tight. "Because... well, you know."

"James..."

"Happy birthday, Anna."

We're so close. His hands are still at my neck from fastening the clasp. Neither of us moves.

"Thank you," I whisper.

"For the necklace?"

"For everything James for being in my life—"

"Don't thank me for that." His thumb traces along my jaw.

"James" I rise on my toes, bringing our faces closer.

"What?" His voice was barely a whisper.

"I want you to kiss me again."

He kisses me like he's drowning and I'm air.

His hands tangle in my hair, and I make a sound I've never made before. He pulls back immediately.

"God, I'm sorry—"

I pull him back down. "Don't you dare apologize."

This time when he kisses me, it's different. Slower. Deliberate. Like he's memorizing the feel of it.

"I've wanted this for so long," I admit against his lips.

He kisses me again, deeper this time, backing me against the wall. My hands find their way under his shirt, feeling the warm skin beneath.

"Is this really happening?" I gasp when he moves to my neck.

He pulls back to look at me. My lips are swollen, his hair messed up from my hands. "Do you want it to?"

"Yes," I breathed.

We spend the rest of my day curled on the couch, not talking about what this means. Just existing in this new space where we can touch without guilt. His arms around me, my head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat.