“Happy birthday.” I pulled the metal pan with the plastic cover over it out and then held it in his direction, still smiling. “It’s chocolate with vanilla frosting,” I explained, still holding it out toward him. Those blue-green eyes widened. Then those eyes—those freaking eyes that were a shade of color that didn’t seem natural—flicked down toward the cake then back toward my face. His eyes widened just a little more. Then he did it. For the first time in months, his mouth tipped up maybe a millimeter. At the most a millimeter. But it was a smile. A tiny smile that might have been interpreted
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