Even as the tranquility of a pure, dreamless sleep envelopes him, the cold emptiness rouses him the instant his wife slips from his embrace.
With the haze of sleep still clinging to him, he almost asks where she's going.
But as she pulls the duvet over him and presses a soft kiss to his brow, the question dies on his lips.
"Happy birthday, Rhett," she whispers so imperceptibly he almost misses it despite the silence of the night.
She tries to be as sneaky as possible as she moves toward the door, until the faint creak of it opening breaks the stillness.
Is she really planning a surprise for him?
He wondered why she had seemed a bit too eager to send him on an errand to the grocery store that evening. He had returned as quickly as he could and found her at the sink doing the dishes, while the faint scent of chocolate cake lingered in the kitchen.
She brushed it off when he asked if she had baked anything.
He hadn't pushed further when he found nothing in the refrigerator and realized the date. It's already the third of February.
He had never thought much of birthdays.
After his father's death eight years ago, he had cared even less.
But to his Angel, every person's birthday is worthy of celebration, for it marks another year lived beneath God's grace.
Every day is a miracle worth giving thanks for. How much more precious, then, is the blessing of living to see another year?
Her own birthday is approaching, and what a wonderful gift it is that he gets to grow older beside her.
A sudden swell of disbelief, entwined with happiness, washes over him.
She's his, and he's hers, and he can never thank God enough for the blessing of sharing a home... a whole life... with her.
He pretends to be asleep as the door opens with a faint hum, her footsteps barely audible as she makes her way back to the bed.
She thinks she can just vanish and appear again and he'd never know. How could he ever tell that she's a prairie of blooming ivory jasmines stretching across lush green mountains in this grey, shriveled world?
Does she know they were made from each other... made for each other?
Still, he cannot help the breathless rush of wonder that she was always meant to be his. Is actually his.
Her powder-rose scent drifts closer, and with all his strength he battles the urge to reach for her, to pull her into his arms, to kiss her until their lungs burn for air,
and to make love to her until they can't remember being tied down to mortality.
But... he can't help the smile that deepens across his lips
when her warm breath fans against his ear.
A soft chuckle escapes her. "I knew you were awake."
His eyes open to meet hers,
shimmering in the candlelight, and he's instantly swept into paradise.
A smile warms her ethereal face, and he can only stare at her in awe as she climbs on the bed, carefully carrying the cake in her hands.
He slowly rises to sit as she sings the birthday song in a voice as sweet as a nightingale's. And he cannot fathom how such a simple tune has become the most beautiful melody he has ever heard.
As the song comes to an end, she gestures towards the candle with her eyes.
He rests his hand on her knee and leans forward, blowing out the candles.
But then she gasps dramatically. "You forgot to make a wish!"
"Can I still make one?" he asks with a laugh.
Her eyes narrow as though giving it a serious thought, before a smile blooms across her lips. "You can."
He closes his eyes, folding his hands together as he silently prays to God for a hundred more birthdays just like this with her, if not a thousand more.
He opens his eyes, when a sudden thought occurs to him. "We aren't going to celebrate birthdays up there, are we?"
A soft laugh escapes her. "I think birthdays only belong to Earth."
He nods knowingly before she hands him a fork.
He scoops up a small bite and brings it to her lips. She steals the fork from him, scoops up a bite and gently feeds him.
His eyes close as the rich, moist cake
melts on his tongue. Chocolate. His favorite.
"How does it taste?" she curiously asks.
"Divine," he murmurs.
She lifts her chin, a smug smile tugging at her lips. "I made it myself."
He lets out a laugh, brushing his fingertip through the frosting before smearing a dab of it on the tip of her perfect little nose.
A gasp escapes her before she sets the cake beside them and climbs on his lap.
His laughter refuses to fade,
pure happiness coursing through him like tingling electricity as she rubs their noses together, smearing away the frost.
His hands glide over her back as she leans into him with a smile, her soft lips finding his.
"Happy twenty-fourth birthday, hubby," she murmurs, her warm breath brushing against his lips.
"Thank you," he says, smiling.
"My pleasure," she whispers.
A smile tugs at her lips as she brushes her fingers along his jaw. "Do you want more cake, or should I put it back in the fridge?"
"I want you," he says,
desire stirring within him as he peers into her warm, deer-like eyes.
"You already have me," she murmurs,
a teasing smile playing at her lips as she begins to slip off his lap.
But he catches her by the waist and, in one swift motion, pushes her back onto the bed.
Giggles spill from her lips as he peppers
her face with kisses before letting them wander along her neck and shoulder.
"The cake..." Her half-hearted protest dies as he cups her chin and captures her lips in a slow, unraveling kiss.
Just one taste of her, and he's drunk on a sweetness finer than the richest wine.
He's a parched man wandering through a world ravaged by apocalypse, searching for something to quench his thirst, until God, in His mercy, bestows upon him a garden.
There, he finds her, a spring from which he drinks and drinks, yet never has enough.
He pins her hands above her head when a creamy texture smears across their fingers.
He couldn't care less... but she had made it with so much love.
Never breaking their gaze, he lifts her hand and licks the side of her palm,
savouring away the frosting from her fingers.
A faint blush colours her cheeks before she murmurs, her breath still unsteady,
"I spent so much time decorating the cake... and you barely even glanced at it."
Guilt seeps into his chest.
But what can he do when everything fades into nothing when she's in front of him...
"I'm sorry," he says gently.
A chuckle slips from her as she strokes his cheek with her thumb. "I was just joking."
No, even if she hadn't meant it, he should have been more appreciative.
Really, the cake is a work of art.
Tiny delicate red roses wind gracefully around its rounded sides, entwined with green vines and leaves. At its centre, elegant cursive proclaims: Happy b'day to my handsome, Mysterious Man.
His brow arches as he meets her eyes. "Mysterious man?"
She chuckles, winding her arms around his neck. "I used to call you that...
back when I didn't know your name."
He smiles. "Did you?" he says, pressing a tender kiss to her jaw.
"Mm-hmm," she replies, before a sudden realisation dawns onto him.
He had indeed been mysterious back then.
Even now, though they were married, there was still so much she didn't know about him.
He wasn't being fair to her.
He tucks a loose curl behind her ear.
"I never told you my father isn't my biological father, did I?"
A small frown pulls at her brow. "He isn't?"
"He met my mother while he was on a mission," he says.
"He told me there was a storm that night.
His car had broken down in the middle of nowhere when he heard a baby's cry.
"He followed the sound and found me...
and my mother lying unconscious on a flooded riverbank."
"I had no idea," she whispers softly.
"She had run away from her abusive husband and was homeless and starving," he adds. "After my father found us,
they fell in love and got married.
But she died when I was seven years old."
Her eyes soften, not with pity, but with quiet empathy. She had lost her own parents when she was only ten years old,
and unlike him, she couldn't even hold onto their memories because of her amnesia.
"Do you know who your biological father is?" she asks quietly.
"No," he says. "And I don't even want to know. Keith Lei is the only father I'll ever acknowledge. He's never once
made me feel unloved, so I've never even cared enough to think about that man."
A smile touches her lips. "I'm so glad you had a father like him."
He smiles back at her when the urge to tease her flutters through his chest like a feather. "You think I'm handsome?"
She frowns, as if he'd asked an absurd question. "Of course," she says. "You're perfect in every way."
Then a cheeky smile blooms across her lips as she taps the tip of his nose. "You're my handsome husband. The apple of my eye."
She has done it again, his beautiful...
beautiful temptress, fanning the flames already searing beneath his skin.
He rises at once, carefully setting the cake on the nightstand.
A laugh ripples from her as he swiftly pulls his T-shirt over his head, a grin spreading across his face before he leans in to kiss her.
Her arms slip around his neck as their kiss deepens, drawing them once more into that floating island between living and dying, where he drowns in the fervent splendour of heaven that is his Angel... his wife.