Page 80 of The Moment I Knew

His eyes widened in horror. “Tell me you’re not somebody who enjoys being sung to on your birthday.”

“Why?” I teased. “Would that be a deal breaker?”

“Definitely.”

“Well, it is my birthday. Aren’t you supposed to honor the birthday girl’s wishes?”

“How about you come with me for your other birthday surprise, and then we can talk about it.”

“A birthday surprise? What is it?”

“I guess you’ll just have to follow me and find out.” He rises from the chair and extends a hand to me again. I was starting to get used to that—to him wanting to take me on some kind of adventure out of my comfort zone, but always offering me his hand first like whether or not I put my hand in his is all the answer he needs.

My fingers itched to be in his again, but I hesitated briefly. “And if we get caught?”

“Then I’ll take full responsibility,” he said. “I’ll tell your mom I corrupted you.”

She would probably laugh at that, I thought. “Okay,” I said, slipping my hand in his, immediately feeling like a puzzle piece just clicked into place. “But we have to be quick.”

His grin widened, triumphant but soft. “Deal.”

I took his hand and led him out of my bedroom and into the hall. Even though he’d just been in my bedroom, which was easily the most intimate spot of the house, I found myself feeling more on guard as I wandered through the dark hallway, wondering what he must be thinking about my family right now.

I crouched and jammed my feet into my boots, not even bothering to untie them first since they were already half-laced anyway, then grabbed my coat from the front closet. I hadn’t gotten out my thicker winter jacket for the season yet since the days were still warm enough for my fall coat, but I hoped with the sweater underneath it, this one would be warm enough even for the evening.

By the time I had it on, Cole was already holding my hat and gloves, which had been in a basket with everyone else’s by the front door. I stared at them in his hands—my white hat with the bobble on top and knit white gloves—wondering how he’d known exactly which ones to grab.

“It’s freezing out,” he said, misreading my hesitation. “You’ll want them.”

I put the gloves on but looked at him curiously. “How’d you know they were mine?”

“You come into the coffee shop every day,” he said, “and you think I don’t know what hat is yours?”

“I just didn’t realize you noticed,” I whispered. Something soft passes his features. Then he reaches out and slides my hat over my head. His fingers brush my cheeks, leaving a burning trail on my skin.

“Of course I noticed you, Princess.” My breath catches, but then he backs up a step. “Come on,” he says, and we walk together toward the back door. Cole holds it open for me and a gust of winter wind blows at my face.

“Gosh, it’s freezing,” I said, sticking my hands in my pockets and shivering.

“Told you,” he said, stepping in close behind me.

We crossed the yard quietly, grass crunching under our boots, the frost glittering like it was showing off. The back deck light barely reached us now, and everything felt weirdly private, like the world had shrunk down to just this little patch of backyard.

The sky was insane. Clear and endless and packed with stars, like someone had turned the brightness all the way up just for tonight.

“Oh,” I breathed. “Okay. Yeah. You win.”

He glanced at me, a crooked smile tugging at his mouth, like he was proud he’d pulled this off. “Told you it was a good idea.” He shrugged out of his jacket and spread it across the grass. “Sit before you turn into an icicle.”

I sat down and he joined me a second later, close enough that our shoulders bumped. I didn’t move away. The cold faded a little with him there, his arm warm against mine.

We leaned back together, staring up at the sky, and for once my brain went quiet. No rules. No parents. No Ainsley lectures. Just the stars overhead and Cole beside me, acting like he didn’t care about anything—except, apparently, my birthday.

“Hey,” he said, nudging my knee lightly with his own. “What’s that?”

I followed his gaze, squinting past the branches. The tree loomed at the back edge of the yard, its limbs bare this time of year, stretching up into the dark. Tucked between two thick branches was the outline of it—wooden planks, a slanted roof, the rope ladder hanging down like it was waiting for someone who never came anymore.

“Just our old treehouse.” I’d gotten so used to seeing the treehouse there that I never really noticed it anymore. It had become a fixture of the backyard, the same as the garden and the oak tree and the swing set we’d never used much.