There it was. Creed made it all better.
Unfortunately, he went on, “We stop at three, you get to an age where four isn’t healthy.”
Seriously?
“I’m not old, Creed.”
“Gotta have two years in between.”
“Is that a rule?”
“Yes.”
Seriously. Sometimes a bossy badass was annoying.
“Creed –”
His head was descending and I stopped talking when it froze in its descent for a moment before he dipped his chin and looked at me through the dark.
“It’s two oh five,” he announced weirdly.
“What?” I asked.
“It’s two oh five, baby.”
“Okay,” I said slowly, not understanding the information he seemed intent on imparting on me. Or, more to the point, not understanding why he seemed intent on imparting this information on me.
His lips came to mine. “You’re a minute into your thirty-fifth birthday.”
Oh. Yeah.
Right on!
“Yippee,” I whispered against his lips. I was pretty sure he was going to kiss me but he rolled, got on his ass, did something in the dark by the nightstand then he came back to me.
His hand trailed down my arm, found my wrist, lifted it and turned it so my hand was palm up.
I felt a box set in it.
“My girl’s green,” Creed murmured.
Oh shit.
Oh crap.
Oh f**k.
I had this back too.
Not that I forgot it, just that I had it back.
I had it back.
Finally.
Tears clogged my throat and through them, I pushed out a weak, “Creed.”
“Open it, Sylvie.”