Page 21 of To the Grave

“Wow,” he said, turning over the wafer-thin piece of wood. “This is… this is beautiful.”

“It’s made out of local cherry wood,” I said.

He held it closer to his face to study the grain, then rubbed it between his thumb and forefinger, meeting my gaze. “It’s incredible. Thank you.”

“Happy birthday,” I said. “And…” I shook my head. “I’m so sorry I missed it.” I looked at Otis. “That I missed both of them.”

“Not a big deal, sunshine.”

“Your turn,” Otis said, picking up the small package on the bed. He thrust it into my hands. “I hope you like it.”

It was a rectangular box about six inches long and four inches deep, meticulously wrapped in brown craft paper and tied with twine.

I laughed. “I think you’re a better gift wrapper than I am.”

“I had to make the box,” Otis said when I peeled the paper off a little at a time to reveal a beautiful wooden box. I recognized the grain of the cherry wood, polished to a warm glow.

“You… you made this?”

He shrugged. “What’s inside is fragile. I didn’t want to wrap it in cardboard.”

Of course he didn’t. My heart swelled with love for him. If the box alone had been the present, I would have been more than happy.

I lifted the lid on the wooden box and gasped when I saw what was inside.

“This is…” I couldn’t even get out the words as I withdrew the small gilded cage, a tiny mechanical bird sitting inside on a slender piece of polished wood. “This is unbelievable.”

“Turn it over,” Otis said.

I cradled the cage in my hand and lifted it to my face, afraid to break it by turning it upside down. There was a small gold key on the underside, the kind that wound a music box. “It plays music?”

“Wind it and see,” Otis said.

“I don’t want to break it.”

“You’re not going to break it, doll. It wasn’t working when I got my hands on it, but it’s good as new now.”

“Wait… you got this working?” I asked.

He shrugged. “They’re hard to find in working condition. I know it’s not brand new, but it seemed like something you’d like.”

I met his eyes and a powerful tide of emotion moved between us. “It’s something I like.”

“You haven’t even wound it up yet.”

I laughed and turned the little key, then held it right side up in my hand.

The little bird flapped tiny metal wings as the music started to play, something familiar and haunting, something that spoke of old houses and dusty books, of lilacs and open windows and antique furniture polished with lemon oil.

The title of the music was on the tip of my tongue. “Is that…?”

“'Moonlight Sonata.’”

I nodded and watched the bird move until the music stopped playing. It was pure magic, made even more meaningful because he’d brought it back to life with his own hands. I could almost see his blond head bent to the delicate machinery inside the base of the gilded gage, his fingers deftly replacing part after part until the bird sang again.

I set the cage down on the table and slipped onto Otis’ lap. “Thank you.”

I slid my hands around his neck and kissed him, felt the press of his cock against my ass as our tongues met, his arms tight around my waist.

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