The moment Birdie closes the door and is out in the hall, I meet Shaz’s gaze. “Okay, you can let it out now.”
She doubles over in her chair and bursts into a fit of laughter. “Man, I love the people in this building so much.”
I do too. They’re the only family I’ve got.
Or, at least, the only family I remember.
It’s after midnight when we tumble outside onto the balcony dance floor—Asher’s warm hand tugging me behind him. Thenight has been filled with friends, libations, and an amazing playlist. The buzz of celebration cocoons me from the world, suspending me in a spinny haze.
It’s just the perfect degree of drunkenness. More than tipsy but less than sloppy.
My head feels like a ten-pound bowling ball, and I let it fall back until I’m staring up at the bright harvest moon. “Best birthday evah!”
Asher is six-foot-two, so it’s easy for him to kiss my forehead and smile down at me. “Better than the trampoline park last year?”
I consider that. “An amazing night as well, but yeah, I think so.”
He gives me a satisfied nod. “Then I have earned my bestie badge for another year.”
I sway to the music as we melt into the crowd of drunken revelry. “You have nothing to prove. You have a lifetime bestie badge.”
“As I should.” He winks and then holds up my empty hands. “What’s this? You don’t have a drink. How can you maintain a state of schnockered bliss if you don’t keep fuel in the tank?”
I chuckle. “Okay, last one. Then we need to call it a night. We promised Big Dan we’d shut it down at a respectable hour.”
Asher steps back and gestures to the patio furniture against the wall. “Are you good to keep dancing or do you want to sit down?”
“I’m good. I’ll mingle.”
“Okeydokey, I’ll be right back.”
Asher ducks back inside and leaves me with a dozen neighbors and a handful of plus ones. The older crowd dispersed about an hour or two ago and are safely tucked back into their apartments. But there are still enough people out here to call it a party.
“Happy birthday, Poppy,” people say as I dance by.
“Thank you.”
Life is good. It’s the perfect night. The air is crisp but not cold, with that clean, breathable October scent that smells faintly of apple cider and Margie’s overenthusiastic pumpkin candles burning in every corner.
The music from Mitchell’s playlist has been an amazing mix of upbeat electronic with the odd Halloween remix added in for themed flavor. As I sway and twirl among my friends, the blend of the bass beat carries me. My head feels fuzzy, and my heart, for once, feels light.
Tonight isn’t about what I don’t have—like any idea of who I am or where I came from—it’s about what Idohave.
Great friends and a home with the greatest guy I know.
I truly believe the universe gave me Asher to fill all the emptiness in my world.
“Happy birthday, Poppy.” A cool hand takes mine and tugs me around to face a man in his late thirties. He shares more than a striking resemblance to Ian Somerhalder, his black hair tousled in that ‘I worked all day to make this look effortless’ sort of way.
I don’t know him, but more than one person brought guests tonight, so… “Are you having a good night?”
“I am, thank you.”
“Wow, your eyes are really blue.” Okay, I must be really drunk because that was lame. Not that it isn’t true, his eyes are the most vibrant cyan blue I’ve ever seen. “Are you wearing colored contact?—”
The question dies on my tongue as time stops all around me.
The music ends mid-beat.
