Chapter 9 - The Real Birthday Party
The backyard was a riot of primary colors.
A massive bounce house shaped like a medieval castle dominated the grass near the oak tree, its electric blower humming away with a steady, muffled roar as four seven-year-olds bounced up and down until their hair stood on end with static electricity.
A long picnic table was covered in a bright yellow cloth and piled high with pizza boxes from the local Italian place, bowls of potato chips, and two giant trays of cupcakes topped with towering swirls of pink and blue buttercream frosting.
"Mom! Watch me do a backflip!" Harper yelled from the entrance of the bouncy house, her face flushed red with excitement as she bounced off the inflatable wall and landed squarely on her bottom with a shriek of laughter.
"Do not try a backflip on a Friday afternoon or you're grounded from dessert!" Camille called out, laughing as she wiped a smudge of frosting off her cheek with the back of her wrist.
Nolan walked over from the grill, wearing a bright orange apron that said Grill Sergeant across the chest and carrying a large platter of hot dogs and sliders. He set the tray down on the picnic table and slipped an arm around Camille’s waist, pulling her close against his side.
"Status report?" Nolan asked, kissing the top of her head.
"All drinks are accounted for," Camille smiled, looking over toward the beverage station where two large glass dispensers sat filled with ordinary, unadulterated lemonade and iced tea, with clear labels handwritten in Harper’s marker pen: SAFE TO DRINK. "No dropper bottles, no suspicious cousins, and no corporate espionage."
"Good," Nolan said, squeezing her waist. "Because the neighborhood kids have already consumed enough sugar to power a small locomotive, and I don't think I can handle another medical emergency today."
"There won't be any more emergencies," Camille said, looking out across the lawn where Harper was now chasing one of her classmates around the oak tree, her laughter ringing out clear and bright in the warm autumn air.
The past month felt like something that had happened to someone else in a different lifetime. The trial dates were set, the corporate restructuring was complete, and Sabrina’s name had become a closed file in the district attorney’s archives—just another case of someone who thought they could outsmart the evidence, only to find out that the truth has a way of staying put while everything else falls apart.
"Hey, Camille," Nolan said softly, turning her so she was facing him.
"What?"
"Happy birthday."
Camille blinked, surprised. "My birthday isn't for another six months."
May you like
"I know," Nolan grinned, his blue eyes crinkling at the corners. "I just wanted to say it. Because watching you take control of that kitchen, look at that security footage, and protect our daughter like a cold-blooded corporate investigator... it was the hottest thing I've seen in ten years of marriage."
Camille laughed, a rich, genuine sound that rose up and joined the noise of the children playing on the lawn. She reached up, grabbed the strings of his silly apron, pulled him down, and kissed him right in front of all the neighborhood parents, who were just walking through the back gate with gifts in their hands.
