260: Penny
I can’t stop watching him.
He hasn’t said a word since the lights turned on, since everyone screamed surprise and a flood of people came into view–people we love, people we trust. Everyone’s here. And Asher… Asher’s just looking. Slowly. Quietly. Like he’s trying to absorb every single detail without giving anything away.
His jaw flexes. His eyes scan the balloon clusters, the table covered in his favorite food, the cake with a shaky chocolate 24 piped on top. He looks at the fake gear on Max, the face paint on Mila, the literal cutout of the Grinch someone (probably Anna) stuck in a corner beside a plate of dumplings.
And then his eyes find mine.
I lift my chin, standing tall under his gaze, my heart thundering like it always does when he looks at me like that–like I’m the center of something. Like I’m his.
He walks toward me slowly, everyone else falling into soft laughter and chatter behind him, and when he reaches me, he leans in close, brushing his lips over the shell of my ear.
“You’re the best,” he whispers, low and warm. “For this.”
A soft breath escapes me. I blink fast, swallowing the sudden lump in my throat.
“I thought you deserved a big birthday surprise,” I say, lifting my hands to rest against his chest. “I felt awful that I’ve been so busy lately. I made you think I forgot.”
“You didn’t need to do any of this.”
“I wanted to.”
Truth is, he never even mentioned his birthday. Not once. Not in passing. Not in a joke. I only found out because a few months ago, Rooster said it while recounting some mission story and I’d written it down. immediately.
Three weeks ago, I double–checked with Rooster, confirmed the date, and started planning. Rooster said the last three birthdays Asher had were all during deployments. That they passed like any other day, or worse days when things went south. No candles. No cake. No one saying, I’m glad you were born.
Yeah. That doesn’t work for me.
If he’s mine, then he gets celebrated. Even if it’s chaos. Especially then.
“I got all your favorite things,” I say, nudging my nose against his jaw. “The dumplings, the noodles, the beef satay, the rice balls: And there’s that weird spicy jelly drink you like in the fridge. Boomer thinks it’s
gross.”
“Boomer’s wrong.”
He presses a kiss to the top of my head and then pulls a small bag from behind his back.
“And I got you yours,” he says, voice a little smug now. “I picked it up for you when I thought this was just another day in rehearsal.”
I blink, take the bag, and my heart leaps when I see the sushi brand logo printed on the side.
“You didn’t.”
“I did.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“Princess, you threw me a tactical–themed surprise party with balloons and Squidward. I have to match your energy somehow.”
I laugh, leaning into him, and for the next few minutes, it’s just the two of us, standing in the middle of this room full of people, noise and music buzzing around us like static. But all I feel is him. Steady and
warm and here.
Soon, the others trickle in–first Mila, who flings her arms around Asher and calls him “Birthday Bro,” then Boomer with a clap on the back and a look that says I know you hate this, but suck it up. Rooster smirks and gives him a beer. Max launches into a chaotic monologue about how this proves he could totally survive Navy SEAL training.
“I mean, look at me,” Max says, gesturing to his cargo pants and way–too–tight vest. “Don’t I look like I belong? I’m a natural.”
“No,” Asher, Boomer, and Rooster say in unison.
Max blinks. “Excuse me?”
Rooster takes a sip of his drink. “You’d trip on your shoelace and give away the whole team’s location in
five seconds.”
Boomer nods. “You’d forget to whisper.”
Asher shrugs. “You’d get kicked out during orientation.”
—
Laughter erupts from everyone loud, gut–deep, contagious. Even Max laughs, grinning wide and unbothered. “Alright, alright. Haters. But I do look hot, right?”
Mila tilts her head. “Honestly? I’ve seen worse.”
Eventually, Tyler comes up too. It’s awkward. Stiff. His hands are shoved in his pockets and he mumbles a quiet Happy birthday, man before giving a small nod and backing away. He leaves not long after, and no one really notices.
Music plays. Food is passed around. Someone lights the cake candles and yells at Asher to blow them out without scowling. He tries. Kind of.
And through it all, I stay by his side.
Watching him laugh. Watching him be hugged. Celebrated. Seen.
And loved.
Because this? This is what he deserves. Every single part of it.
Asher eats with one arm around me the whole time, half scowling at the party and half relaxing into it. It’s one of those rare, soft scowls – the kind that hides a smile. His shoulders loosen, his eyes stay warm, and every now and then, he brushes his fingers over my wrist like he’s reminding himself that I’m here. That
this is real.
And then someone yells, “Cake time!”
Cue the chaos.
Anna dimmed the lights again. Max is already waving the lighter around like it’s a torch. Mila’s got the matches. Rooster is guarding the cake like a bodyguard. Someone starts singing Happy Birthday way too loudly and off–key and Asher just groans.
He turns to me with a look of pure, exhausted disbelief.
“You planned cake?”
“I planned everything,” I say, shameless. “You thought we’d skip the best part?”
“I thought we’d skip the worst part.”
“Stop. You’re going to love it.”
“I’m not blowing out the candles.”
“Yes, you are.”
“No, I’m not.”
Max pipes up from behind us. “Yeah, Penny! Make him! I want to see him blow those out.”
“Or better yet,” one of the guys from base adds. “Let’s see you blow them Penny!”
There’s a beat of silence.
Asher turns his head slowly so slowly and looks at them.
One of those death stares, Ice–cold. Unmoving. Navy SEAL stare that says I’ve ended men for less.
Everyone goes quiet.
Like dead quiet.
Rooster mutters under his breath, “That’s the look that made three instructors cry during Hell Week.”
Without breaking eye contact, Asher walks to the cake.
–
Then, casually like he’s been doing it his whole life he reaches up and pinches the two candles between his fingers. The flame sizzles out on contact. No breath. No song. Just him.
“I blew them out,” he says, deadpan. “Happy?”
Max puts a hand over his heart. “I’ve never been more terrified and impressed in my life.”
Laughter explodes around the room, but I just stand there, grinning like an idiot. Because only he could turn blowing out birthday candles into a power move.
Asher catches my eye again and leans close.
“You can have the first slice, Princess,” he murmurs. “On one condition.”
“What?”
He kisses the edge of my mouth, slow and deliberate.
“You never throw me another surprise party again.”
I laugh. “That’s not happening.”
He groans. “You’re lucky I like you.”
“You love me.”
“Yeah,” he says, giving my hip a squeeze. “I really fucking do.”
