Page 93 of Peaches & Pistols

He didn’t even have to ask. I came home one day and when I went to put away Everly’s laundry, I dropped the basket on the floor and burst into tears that this incredible man has more love in his pinky-finger for my daughter than her biological father has in his entire existence.

“Are you ready for birthday breakfast?” I ask as she leaps into my arms for a hug.

Carter made countless things in my life difficult, if not impossible, but the one that stung the most was not being allowed to celebrate my baby girl’s birthday the way I wanted to. I did what I could with what I had.

Birthday breakfast became our tradition, because Carter left early in the morning to get in some laps at the pool before work. I could make my little girl sprinkle waffles with buttercream dollops, and the extra serving of bacon she always craved but Carter never saved for her.

After the holiday season ended, I’d sock away any extra money I could to get Everly a birthday present. It couldn’t be anything that cluttered the house, made noise or a mess, and that Carter wouldn’t notice I’d spent money I wasn’t allowed to have.

It only took one birthday where I bought Everly a baby doll, and I learned how dearly I would pay for making such a mistake. After that, I took to calling her out of school and taking her for a girls’ day.

The absence phone calls went to the landline, and I always ensured we were home in time so I could erase any messages before Carter got home from work.

Girls’ day for us looked a lot different than the girls’ days we’ve been included in since moving to Swiftwater. Ours were quiet and simple. We’d spend the morning at the library, and some years, were lucky enough that Everly’s birthday fell on a craft-corner or story-time day.

The closest movie theater to our home opened at ten in the morning, and it was an easy enough bus ride. I always offered to get her anything she wanted at the theater—popcorn, soda, candy, whatever her tiny heart desired. Every year, my angel baby would inadvertently break my heart when she’d only ask for one small treat.

Even at such a young age, Everly noticed Carter’s stringency and stinginess. Somehow, she knew I didn’t have much and didn’t want to waste or take advantage of my open offer. So, I’d buy her treat with a teary smile as well as a small popcorn to share, and we’d enjoy whatever animated children’s film was showing that day.

This year is different. We’re safe. I’m financially secure, strong as a woman and a mother, and we have Greyson’s unwavering support. I can give Everly any kind of birthday she wants. Since she’s never had a chance to voice her opinions, I waited until today to ask how she’d like to spend her birthday.

Today, for the first time in either of our lives, the world is our oyster, and I’m vibrating with the endless possibilities. I carry my little monkey out to the kitchen and stop dead in my tracks, nearly toppling both of us to the floor.

A second round of “Happy Birthday” is sung and Everly bounces with glee the entire time. Greyson’s transformed the open living space into a department store.

“Wh-what’s all this?” I stutter.

I don’t feel how tightly I’m holding Everly’s hand until Greyson gently pries my fingers from hers and passes her tiny hand to Harper.

“This, honey, is the first of many birthday surprises today. I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve made some plans for both of my girls’ birthdays,” Greyson explains.

“But my birth⁠—”

“Your birthday is next week, I know. But neither of you have ever been celebrated properly, and I thought seeing her joy would be one of the best gifts I could give you.” He grabs at the back of his neck, as if he’s made an error.

“Seeing her happy is all I’ve ever wanted,” I choke out, my throat tight with emotion.

He clears his own throat and transforms into a sweeter version of the bossy Greyson I fell in love with.

“Liv assured me she and Harper picked the perfect birthday outfits and set you up with anything you might want or need to get ready this morning.”

Harper and Everly race into the living room and tissue paper flurries like snow. Greyson admonishes Harper but I tell him to let them be. Their happiness means more to me than anything that could be in those packages.

All said and done, the girls have on the cutest party dresses. They look like miniature fairytale princesses in tiaras and costume jewelry. Greyson’s barely holding back a nuclear meltdown brewing over the glitter now dusting every surface of the house.

Livy chose a dress for me more beautiful than I’d ever dare put on. If Greyson’s ravenous stare tells me anything, he thinks it’s beautiful too. I’m wrapped in buttery, knit-sweater material in an elegant cream.

It’s long sleeved and hits me just below the knees. The high neckline is surprisingly flattering and showcases the stunning sapphire pendant hanging around my neck. My feet are cradled in brown cowboy booties, and I opted to pin my hair back on one side, draping the mass of waves over one shoulder.

I wavered on what makeup to put on, but in the end, I opted for mascara and tinted lip balm—though I admittedly chose a more vibrant shade today.

And Greyson, he looks downright edible. So good I want to send the girls away to the surprise and go back to bed with him as my gift.

He’s wearing a crisp variation of his usual outfit. A pressed flannel, navy blue today, buttoned over a white undershirt, tucked into starched Wranglers that hug his ass perfectly and hang neatly over his cowboy boots.

The cherry on top is the chocolate brown cowboy hat he places on his head, tipped just-so in a way that makes me want to go change my panties.

“Alright ladies, your royal carriage awaits.” Greyson shuffles us through the door and down the stairs to pile into his pre-warmed truck. March in the Colorado Rockies is not to be trifled with, and I’m grateful Greyson’s such a gentleman and takes unrelenting care of us.