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Before I can ask what he's doing, Bishop catches me around the waist and lifts me onto the edge of the kitchen island.

“Bishop!” The granite is cool, even through my leggings.

“What?” He grins, settling me on the counter. “Best seat in the house.”

He turns to retrieve the cake, setting it beside me before reaching for the candles. He finds a lighter, and a moment later two tiny flames dance above the pink numbers.

Two.

Three.

Twenty-three.

My first birthday in Chicago.

My first one away from Evergreen.

And Bishop is standing across from me making sure it doesn’t feel lonely.

I glance at the clock. 11:09.

“You cut it close.”

“Sorry. Media was a bitch after tonight’s game.”

“We could’ve done this tomorrow.”

“No.”

The answer is immediate.

I look at him.

He shrugs.

“Wouldn’t be your birthday tomorrow.” He picks up his phone. “Say cheese, Baby Becks.”

I smile at the camera and feel a happiness I wasn’t even sure was possible. He takes the photo and sits the phone aside. I look back down at the candles; the wax is melting but I can’t blow them out until it’s time.

“You know, you’re making it really difficult to maintain my opinion of you.”

“Which one?”

“That you’re an asshole.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll fix it.” He moves to stand between my legs.

I smile. Neither of us moves. The quiet feels different than it used to. Not awkward.

I run my thumb along the edge of his jersey where it falls over my lap. “Thank you for this too.”

His eyes follow the movement.

“Looks better on you.”

My pulse stumbles. “You stared at me.”

“I have eyes.”