Page 67 of Nothing Special
“You’re awfully deep in thought over there.”
The last time Ridge asked about my thoughts on his birthday, it turned out I was pregnant. That was not the case today. I had something else planned for him, but the day - as per usual - drummed up all kinds of memories and lingering emotions.
“Weddy Mommy,” I heard and had to chuckle. My son was not subtle or patient. Our little angel, Serena, was in her cradle fast asleep as planned.
“What is our little terror ready for?” Ridge asked.
“Surprise!” I shout-whispered as our boy came around the corner and showed his dad the giant cupcake we made for him earlier in the day when he ran to the studio for a couple hours.
I cocked my head to the side and noticed that there was a suspicious bite missing from the cupcake and blue icing on my son’s lips.
“What is this?” Ridge asked.
“Hapwee Birfday!” our son managed to get out.
“Happy birthday, Ridge.”
My husband turned to me and smiled as he accepted the cupcake that was missing more than one bite. Ridge glanced down and laughed as he picked our boy up. “Did you help Daddy eat the cupcake?”
“It’s big,” Liam told him.
“Do you want another bite?”
“Yeah!” our boy shouted. Luckily, his sister could sleep through a natural disaster.
“Thank you,” Ridge told me as Liam took another giant bite of the cupcake.
“It was time,” I said.
“Just another regular old birthday,” my husband agreed.
“Yup, nothing special at all,” I countered with a wink and the reminder of how he phrased it on our engagement day. As we leaned toward one another and kissed, something on the TV caught my eye. “Turn that up,” I demanded.
Ridge did so and we both tuned into the drama that played out.
“A bus carrying several female inmates was routed to the local hospital after one of them was stabbed repeatedly. It turns out the inmate, Fiona Iverson, was well known for the scandal involving billionaire music producer, Ridge Westover a few years ago. She was in prison on charges of rape, two counts of attempted murder, and a few other charges as well.”
“Is she going to be okay?” the other reporter asked.
“No, she was dead on arrival at the hospital after bleeding out in the bus on the way there.”
“What a shame.”
I reached over and turned the television off. Of all the announcements that might have come on my husband’s birthday, that one certainly hadn’t been expected. Fiona was only two and a half years into a twenty-three-year sentence.
“Make a wish, Daddy,” Liam told his dad. My son was late in saying it, especially since he’d eaten the entire top of the cupcake while we watched that news broadcast.
Ridge glanced down and chuckled about the missing icing on his cupcake and then he booped our son’s nose. “I don’t have to make a wish, bud. All my wishes have come true.”
