Page 44 of P.S. I Hate You

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Chapter thirteen

Cindy steps into the kitchen as I’m preparing lunch, wrapping her robe around her middle.

“What are you doing out of bed?”

“I’m startin’ to get bed sores from lyin’ around so much. Besides, I can’t let you nursemaid me on your birthday.”

I can’t help but grin. Cindy’s birthday greeting has been the one constant in my life. From as far back as I can remember, I could always count on that card showing up in the mail wherever we were.

“Thanks.”

“It’s your birthday?” Jace’s voice bellows in from behind, and we both turn our heads. “You didn’t tell me that.”

I shrug. “It’s no big deal.”

“Jesus Christ, you’re a pain in my ass,” he grumbles, pushing me away from the counter. “Go do something fun.”

I offer him a bewildered look. “Like what? In case you forgot, we’re stuck here.”

“Why don’t you two go off and do something together?” Cindy offers. “I could manage here.”

“No,” Jace says. “You go back to bed. I’ll finish lunch.”

Instead, Cindy sits at the table. “I’m goin’ stir-crazy in that bed all day.”

Jace carries a tuna sandwich to the table and sets it down in front of her. “Stop whinin’ and eat.”

Her expression pinches. “Who’s the parent here?”

Jace presses his palm flat on the table as he leans over her. “You are. But you taught me well. Eat, then rest.” He drops his lips to the top of her head, then turns away to rinse the bowl.

“I guess I’m gonna take a ride on my bike?” It comes out as more of a question than a statement. Truthfully, I’d rather just forget it’s my birthday altogether. Without my mom, I don’t feel much like celebrating. It’s just a normal day like any other.

During the day, the town is more deserted than usual. I ride down the street at a leisurely pace. When I’ve reached the end, I turn and come back. So much for a stellar birthday. This time last year, I was in a private villa in Cancun with three of my “closest” friends. I use closest in quotes because they didn’t even acknowledge me today. A few rogue happy birthdays from strangers on social media, but radio silence from those I’d spent the last years of my life with. My stomach growls as I roll onto the gravel outside the house. The pink hue in the purple sky tells me it’s nearly dinnertime. I hadn’t realized I was gone that long, but the afternoon sailed away without me noticing.

The house is quiet as I enter. I stop at the sink for a glass of water and sip it slowly, wondering what to make for dinner. A part of me hoped I’d come home to something already prepared, but Cindy must have gone back to bed, and Jace is in his room doing … whatever he does in there. It looks like I’m on my own.

I open the fridge and peer inside, but the sound of heavy boots drags across the linoleum. Standing straight, I turn toward the sound. “Oh. I assumed you were in your room.”

“Nah. Been workin’ outside.”

I pull my brows together. “Doing what?”

He thumbs over his shoulder. “Come out back. I'll show ya.” Curiosity pulls me forward. The fridge closes with a wisp, but I’m already halfway out the door.

I stand like a stone on the porch, taking it all in. His truck sits in the yard with the tailgate down and blankets and pillows lining the bed. A wire stretches across the yard tied between two trees, and hanging in the middle, a bed sheet is clipped on with clothespins. Assorted fairy lights twinkle high above it all.

My jaw drops. “What is this?”

“I know I ain’t your mom, but I thought maybe you’d wanna recreate a memory.”

Tears well in my eyes. When I woke up this morning, a feeling of dread sat on my chest. I hoped my birthday would come and go. Never in a million years would I have expected something like this.

I glance up at Jace and sweep below my lashes. “This is … I don’t even know what to say.”

“Don’t gotta say nothin’.”

He has yet to look at me, but I can’t take my eyes off him. His cheeks carry a faint rosy hue, hands wringing in front of him. I never thought I’d live to see the day when Jace Wilder was nervous. I didn’t even think it was an emotion he was capable of feeling, but here he is, trying his hardest to remain aloof and doing a terrible job. “Thank you.”


Tags: Jane Anthony Romance