Page 116 of Hidden & Held

PHOENIX

“Happy birthday toooooo yooouuuuu,” the Zentrology girls all chorus together as we huddle around Mack’s kitchen island, faces illuminated by the candles that fortunately aren’t enough to count out my actual age.

“Make a wish!” Nessa chimes, “But for the love of the Goddesses, DO NOT tell us what it is!”

If you’d told me a year ago I’d end up here—celebrating my birthday with my best friends, an actual love life, a business that pays for itself without eating my whole life to do it—I wouldn’t have believed you.

Lane Legal Services is growing, steady and manageable, which means I can still show up at the Foundation and leave at a normal hour. Two months of public outings and private nights with Jackson. My audiobooks have officially been replaced by live performances, and my sleep has never been better for it.

I survey the room. Best friend group I could’ve built to order, if I’d known back then to ask for one.

I blow out the candles, making my wish. I wish for exactly this. Every year.

The girls cheer as Becca removes the candles, laying them on a napkin, and Mack grabs the knife to cut the chocolate and raspberry ganache cake she made.

Taking an enormous piece, I compliment, “This cake is amazing, thank you for making it.”

“Of course, Reece helped me.” She beams, speaking about Jared’s daughter.

“Where is she tonight?” Becca asks.

“She got invited to a sleepover, one of the popular girls on the team. She’s very excited.”

Setting aside the cake for a moment, I gently edge forward the tray of food I brought with all the confidence I can muster. “I almost forgot, I brought dinner.”

Becca lifts the lid.

“Pulled pork sliders?” Her eyebrows rise. “Phoenix …”

“Yes?”

“… did you make these?”

“Absolutely,” I say without flinching.

Nessa narrows her eyes. “Really?”

“Mm-hmm,” I reply, examining my cuticles.

Mack picks up one of the rolls, inspecting it like evidence. “These are homemade brioche buns.”

“I had … a productive afternoon.”

“You burn toast,” Becca says flatly.

“Who doesn’t? Settings can be all wrong depending on the thickness of the bread. Besides, people grow.”

Three sets of eyes stare at me unblinking.

“Fine. Jackson made them.” I sigh dramatically.

“There it is,” Nessa says, reaching for a slider. “I knew there wasn’t enough paprika in your personality for this.”

I laugh in agreement. “He said he’d already made too much and didn’t want it to go to waste.”

“Sure he did.” Becca smiles over the top of her sandwich.

“So what did Jackson get you for your birthday?”