Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 88501 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 443(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88501 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 443(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
Simon’s head popped up so fast, I believed it was going to break off his neck and bounce across the room. His expression brightened so that he was beaming at me. “Really? Did you like the cake? Sawyer mentioned you were a fan of dark chocolate with raspberry filling. I asked my mom specifically for it.”
For a second, I was speechless. He was right; I had mentioned it once in front of Sawyer, but I couldn’t imagine Sawyer repeating that to his little brother unless it had been some offhand comment. Yet, Simon had gotten that for me?
“Oh? I thought it was delicious. Did you like it?” Because that was the only thing that mattered to me. It was his birthday.
He nodded. “I did. A lot. I don’t usually care for dark chocolate, but the raspberry filling made it taste perfect.”
“And was my gift okay? I asked your brother, and he said that you weren’t into video games.”
I hadn’t been sure what to get him at all, and it wasn’t like I could show up on their doorstep empty handed when I was there for Simon’s birthday. A gift card felt like a cheap cop-out, even if Sawyer had said it would be fine. In the end, I’d had to get my mom to help track down what I’d had in mind.
She’d located an artist who’d made fifty pages of blank sheet music on thick vellum paper. Each page had his name inscribed in calligraphy, and the whole thing was contained within a high-quality leather box. To me, it looked like something Beethoven would have owned to write and hold all their best pieces of music. I’d also included a special fountain pen with his name on it in gold leaf. It felt like a weird gift for a thirteen-year-old, but he was also the only thirteen-year-old I knew who lived and breathed music.
“I loved it!” he gushed, leaning forward so that he was almost lying on the counter between us. He winced and continued in a lower voice. “It’s perfect. I’ve always wanted to write my own music. I plan to save all the pages until I get really good and know what I create is the best. None of it will be wasted.”
A smile tugged up one corner of my mouth. “Don’t save them. The song doesn’t have to be perfect. Just yours. Use them. If you run out, tell me and I’ll get you more.”
I didn’t think it was possible for Simon’s eyes to get any wider. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, use them. If you wait for something to be perfect, you may never end up using it.”
The coffeemaker made some guttural sounds as it finished spitting out my brew. I walked over to the refrigerator and grabbed the creamer.
“Actually, there was one more thing I was hoping to get for my birthday,” Simon admitted in a lilting, almost playful tone.
“Oh, yeah? What were you hoping to get?”
“A kiss.”
My eyebrows jumped as I screwed the cap back on the creamer after putting a splash in my coffee and turned to the fridge. “Oh? From who? There someone at school you’ve got a crush on?”
Simon remained silent for so long that I looked up at him. He was staring at me as if I’d missed some major point, but I couldn’t figure out for the life of me what he was hinting at. I’d never met any of the kids he went to school with, or any other kids his own age. Sawyer certainly had never mentioned any.
“I was hoping to get a kiss…from you,” Simon stated firmly, holding my gaze in a way he’d never dared to before.
My entire body went numb, and the bottle of creamer slipped out of my hand. I woke from my stunned stupor a heartbeat later, and I jumped to seize it. My brain and body still weren’t working together, so I fumbled the damn thing a couple of times. Thankfully, I’d screwed the lid on tight so I wouldn’t be cleaning up a mess across Elizabeth Miller’s nice, tidy kitchen.
“W-w-what?” I stammered. This couldn’t be right. This wasn’t happening. I must have fallen asleep while I was reading.
“Please, Pierce. It’s all I want for my birthday. I swear I won’t ask for anything else,” Simon pleaded, suddenly turning his enormous eyes on me. And did he fucking bat his eyelashes at me? Who the hell taught him how to do that?
“Come on, Simon. This isn’t a funny joke.”
“I’m not joking.”
“I’m eight years older than you. I’m too old—”
“Technically, it’s only seven.” Simon interrupted, a smug smile playing on his pink lips that I was suddenly too aware of. “Your birthday isn’t until the end of next month.”
If Sawyer had been the one to tell him when my birthday was, I was going to strangle him. “I’m almost eight years older than you and in college. That’s way too old. There must be a classmate or someone else in school who would be more than happy to kiss you.”