I hate this.
But when I glance sideways and see Amelia on Misha’s back, cheeks flushed, ponytail bouncing, laughing at something Oliver just muttered, my grumpiness fizzles out.
With her next to me, everything is doable.
With her, even this godforsaken mountain feels like a Sunday stroll.
We crest the final ridge, and the world opens up. The sun is bleeding gold across the valley, and Misha whoops like a kid.Amelia squeals, kicking her legs until he sets her down, while Oliver drops his and Misha’s pack with an exaggerated groan.
“Tent,” Misha declares, already unzipping bags. “Before the birthday Bug changes her mind and demands a five-star hotel.”
Amelia reaches for the bags. “I can help?—”
I catch her wrist, stopping her offer because there’s no way. “Birthday princesses don’t pitch tents.”
Misha snorts so hard he nearly drops the tent bag. “Oh, she pitches tents all right.”
Oliver chokes on a laugh, turning it into a cough behind his fist.
Amelia’s mouth falls open, cheeks going pink. “Misha!”
I reel her in before she can swat him, crushing her against my chest. She makes that little surprised squeak I live for.
“And what are you, then?” she asks defiantly, but breathy at the same time. “Also a birthday princess, since you’re just standing there looking pretty instead of helping?”
Brat. I kiss her hard and claiming, then nip her bottom lip just sharp enough to make her gasp.“I have something way more important for you to do.”
She melts instantly, fingers curling into my shirt. “Oh yeah? Like what?”
Misha whistles low. “Get a room, you two. Oh wait, we’re literally building one.”
I cut a quick glare at him.
Idiot.
Amelia blinks, pupils already blown like she really thinks I’m about to do her. “But we haven’t even eaten yet.”
I smirk. “Love where your head’s at, but no.” I release her so I can shrug off the monster backpack—Jesus, finally—and unzip it. Out comes the foldable 49-key MIDI keyboard I ordered custom, with a carbon-fiber frame, a built-in battery pack goodfor twelve hours, and no external power needed. I even wrapped the damn thing in a towel so it wouldn’t rattle.
Misha stops mid-pole extending and just laughs. “You absolute maniac.”
Oliver adjusts his glasses, fighting a grin. “You carried that the whole way?”
“You…” Amelia’s mouth actually falls open, “… you brought me a piano up the mountain?”
“I brought you a keyboard,” I correct, setting it up on the wooden picnic table right next to the firepit. I drop onto the bench, hit the power button, and tap out a few quick notes to make sure the thing still works after the hike. “You play on your birthday. Tradition’s tradition.”
She stares at me like I’ve hung the moon, then scrambles over and drops straight into my lap, making me grunt. But then her weight settles warm and perfect against me, thighs over mine, back to my chest, and my insides melt. I bury my nose in her hair and breathe in the London fog tea, a little sweat, and sunshine like oxygen.
Mine.
Her fingers hover over the keys for a moment before she picks out the melody she always plays when she’s happy. “Clair de Lune” by Claude Debussy. I slide my arms around her waist, holding her close, letting the music and the altitude and the fact we’re here, all four of us, sink into my bones.
After a minute, I can’t resist any longer. I reach around her, wedge my hands into the tiny strip of keys she’s left free on the high end, and plunk out a goofy counter-melody, three notes off-beat on purpose. She giggles, the sound vibrating through her back into my chest, and elbows me lightly.
“Stop sabotaging my masterpiece, Doctor Donovan.”
“Never,” I murmur against the side of her neck, kissing the spot that makes her shiver. My fingers dance over the keys again, deliberately bad, and she laughs so hard she has to stop playing.
