I still remember how carefully he lit the single candle, his palm curved protectively around it afterward. I wanted his hand exactly like that against my neck, cradling it before he kissed me. He sang “Happy Birthday,” eyes on me, that deep, beautiful brown lit up with flame. I was so scared. I wanted it so much. “I wished for him,” I admit, my heart in my throat again. “Then I blew out the candle and the wish came true. That’s how it’s been ever since.” Eli’s eyes finally meet mine, dark and sparking, and he keeps me there. He remembers, too. The memory is so alive between us it’s touchable.
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