Every Kiss(63)
We manage to manhandle our suitcases up the stairs, and Makenna announces that she wants me to have the master bedroom for the first half of the week, since it’s my birthday and all. Like I’d argue with that logic.
After hurrying to unpack everything, we make a trip to the grocery store to stock up on food for the week. We’ve decided to take turns cooking, so while she’s looking at meats and pastas and, you know, stuff you actually have to cook, I’m tossing frozen pizzas and microwavable meals into the basket. She knows better than to expect anything more than that from me. I’m no chef, that’s for sure.
Once we get back and put away the groceries, Makenna makes the declaration that we should spend the last couple hours of daylight on the beach, so we make sandwiches, grab a couple bottles of water and a bag of chips, and do just that. Two hours of digging my toes into the sand, listening to the soft crash of the waves, feeling the ocean breeze in my hair, and chatting with my best friend . . . it’s exactly what I need. And when I snuggle into bed, there’s still a smile on my face when I fall asleep.
“HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO you!” Makenna sings, jumping up and down on my bed. “It’s going to be a lovely day filled with birthday surprises. Not to mention the fact that we have to go hunt down a liquor store, so you can buy something. It’s a rite of passage into adulthood.”
I throw my pillow at her, nearly knocking her off balance. “For my first birthday surprise, I’d like to sleep, thankyouverymuch.”
“No way. Not happening. Besides, it’s after ten.” She bounds off the bed and flings the double doors to the balcony open. “Do you see this? You’re going to sleep the entire day when you could be out there?”
“Well, when you put it that way . . .”
“I’m always right. You know that.”
We both look at each other before bursting into laughter. Never right would be more like it, and she knows that.
“So what are these big birthday surprises you have in store for me? It may be a determining factor of whether or not I choose to get out of bed.”
“Be right back.” She races from the room and downstairs before racing right back up and pouncing back on the bed. “Surprise number one.” She shoves a wrapped gift at me. Although I’m not entirely sure that “wrapped” is what you’d call it. It’s more like there’s some paper wadded up around it and some tape stuck on there haphazardly. The girl can’t wrap a gift to save her life, but it’s the thought that counts.
I tear at the first opening I can find to shed the box of the layered mass of paper surrounding it, and I lift the lid from the top. Inside is a brand new Breaking Benjamin t-shirt. “You know me too well. I love it, Mak.”
A sly grin curls up the corners of her mouth. “Look underneath it.”
I lift the shirt carefully to find two concert tickets nestled in the tissue paper. They’re for one of their upcoming concerts in Atlanta this summer. I have no words. So I just squeal.
Finally, after a few minutes of hugging her and bouncing up and down, I shower and get ready for the day. She tells me there’s more in store for me, so if the other surprises are anything like those tickets, it’s going to be a damn good day. Makenna knows me better than I know myself most of the time, so she knows exactly what I want or need, even when I don’t know sometimes. That’s one of the many reasons she’s my best friend.
My hair is dry and styled into the perfect beach waves, I’m wearing my favorite denim shorts and new t-shirt, and I just polished all of my nails in the perfect shade of ocean blue. I feel fantastic for a change, and today is going to be a great day. I have no doubt about that.
Descending the stairs, I look back and forth at the shoes I’m holding in each hand. “Makenna, which shoes look best? These black flip flops or the sandals?” I’m nothing if not a shoe whore. Like I’d totally sell myself to buy shoes. Okay, maybe not, but I’d come awful close to it.
“Sandals,” a voice calls back from the living room. But it’s the fact that it’s a male voice has me flinging shoes across the room and screaming.
Wes throws his arms up to keep from being pelted in the face by a wayward flip flop. “Take it easy. It’s just me.”
“What the hell are you doing here?” I pound a fist into his chest when he approaches me. My heart is hammering in my chest so hard that I feel somewhat dizzy. I’m not sure, though, if it’s the fact that I thought a man broke into the house or if it’s the fact that it’s Wes. So much for my troubles not following me here.