“I’m not?—”
“You were late.” She handed him a slip of paper. “You owe us at least one.”
He stared at her. There were no cameras here. No strategic alliances. Just a night that didn’t ask anything of him except to be part of it.
He stood.
The paper crown slid slightly down his forehead as he began to act out his card: “Birthday Boss.”
Bea guessed it before anyone else. He didn’t confirm. He just sat again, beside her.
Georgina smiled, but didn’t make a joke. Nate said nothing—but leaned back a little, as if cataloging this moment. Simplicity. Maybe even joy.
None of them said it aloud, but they felt it: this wasn’t just Bea’s love for Gage. This was something none of them had ever had.
The party wound down the way all the best ones did—slow laughter, sticky fingers, and the muffled reluctance to call it. After charades, they mostly just talked. The girls carried the conversation, bright and fast and winding, while the men sat back and let the warmth fill in the space. No one checked the time. It was the kind of comfort that didn’t need explanation.
The cake came last. Small, delicate, from the Asian bakery near campus. Soft chiffon, light cream, not too sweet.‘Happy Birthday Gage’was written in pale blue script across the top. A single, small white candle in the center.
Bea lit it. Stepped back. “You’re twenty-seven now. Make a wish.”
“I don’t need to.” In any other room, that would’ve been it. But here, where no one was keeping score, he said what he never would anywhere else. “I’m in it.”
Nate and Georgina exchanged glances. Neither spoke. But it felt like they’d just witnessed a truth that wasn’t theirs to touch.
Eventually, the men stood to go. Georgie handed Gage his coat and adjusted the paper crown still crooked on his head. “Don’t forget your title,” she tittered. “Birthday Boss for life.”
Bea walked them to the door. “Text me when you’re home.”
“I will.” Gage kissed her temple.
“Thanks for your help, Nate,” Bea beamed.
Nate gave a lazy two-finger salute, like he’d just finished a mission.
The door clicked shut behind them.
GAGE
Gage and Nate rode the elevator down in silence, the echo of laughter and throwback music still clinging to their clothes.
The street outside was quiet, cool. Nate stopped beside his car. He didn’t open the door right away.
“That girl,” Nate mused, turning to him. “Gave you a party no one else would’ve thought to throw.”
He didn’t say the rest. That they’d all enjoyed it more than they expected. That Bea’s love had been written in glitter glue and juice boxes.
This night hadn’t been funny to Gage. Or quaint. It had been unfamiliar and yet, disarming. Intimate in a way he’d never experienced.
She’d given him something he didn’t know how to want.
“I get it now. Why you’re still here.” Nate tapped his key fob. The car unlocked with a soft chirp. “Great party, King.” He climbed in, then added, without turning back, “Don’t think the hedge-fund crowd’s topping this tomorrow. Even with caviar.”
Gage stood for a moment longer, coat collar turned up against the breeze. His thumb brushed glitter from the edge of his sleeve. “Could’ve been worse,” he said. But his voice gave it away.
The cars pulled away, one after the other.
Gage didn’t take the crown off right away. Not until he’d pulled out of the lot and the world felt quiet again. Then hereached up, slid it from his head, and laid it gently on the passenger seat. Like it mattered.
