Page 39 of This: Blake & Emon

“Happy Birthday, baby.”

Chapter 18

Christmas had always been Blake’s favorite holiday besides her own birthday, but this one felt different. Living with Emon had shown her what it meant to be truly cherished, and watching him get into the holiday spirit had been something else. He’d let her drag him to pick out the perfect tree, helped her decorate every inch of their home, and even wore the matching pajamas she’d bought for professional pictures. Anything for his baby.

Christmas morning, she woke to the smell of French toast and coffee drifting upstairs. Their bedroom was empty, but his side of the bed was still warm. She smiled, thinking about how different this was from last Christmas, when she’d been alone in her apartment, studying for finals and eating leftover takeout.

Pulling on her silk robe over her holiday pajamas, she made her way downstairs. Their tree looked like something out of a magazine, with presents scattered everywhere. They had been sneaking packages in for weeks, going too far and doing the most for each other.

“About time you woke up,” he called out from the kitchen. “Coffee’s ready.”

Before she could reach for her mug, something in her stocking caught her eye.

“Baby, why are there car keys in my stocking?”

“Maybe Santa thought you been good this year.” He smirked from behind his coffee mug.

“Emon...”

“Just go look outside, girl.”

There it sat in their driveway, a black Ford Bronco, exactly like she’d described months ago: custom wheels, sparkle black paint, and black leather interior with red stitching. He’d been working on this surprise for months. Finding the old body hadn’t been easy, but having connections helped. His cousin Gio’s custom shop was becoming the go-to spot for builds like this. Watching his cousin’s dream grow made supporting him with this project even sweeter.

“You remembered,” she whispered, tears forming.

“I remember everything you say.” He wrapped his arms around her from behind. “Especially when you talking about your dreams, then you stare off into space with that little sigh. I pay attention to all that.”

After the way she had gone all out for his birthday, he knew he was going to spare no expense for Christmas. She jumped in with a grin the size of Texas, running her hands over the black leather interior. When she turned the key, the custom exhaust pipes rumbled, making her scream with delight.

“It’s perfect.” Her fingers traced over her name embroidered in the headrest; ‘Blake’ in elegant script. The custom plate read ‘BLAKEB’, because of course he’d thought of everything.

“Is it what you envisioned? If not, I’ll take this bitch back right now,” he said, joking.

Blake whipped her head toward him and gave him a death stare. “Don’t touch my baby. It’s exactly what I envisioned.”

“I was fuckin’ with you. I told Gio it had to be perfect.”

“It is. I love it. I can’t wait to drive it over to your mom’s for Christmas. My biggest cheerleader must see this.”

He leaned in through the window. “Come on. It’s cold as hell out here and you got more presents to open.”

“More? Emon, this is already too much.” He’d got her that Ninja slushie she’d been eyeing, new bags, perfume, new shoes, diamond studs from Cartier, and something so customized he knew it would mean more than all the rest. At least he hoped so.

“Yeah, some light shit. Nothing major.”

“I know you don’t expect me to believe that.” She laughed, heading back inside. She’d gotten him a few things as well. New tools, a zero turn lawn mower to make his yard work quicker, and a new watch. She loved that he enjoyed fixing stuff and handling the yard. He was so old school, and she loved it. They’d be fifty in matching outfits, going for groceries and running errands, and she couldn’t wait.

Blake smirked as she took the box from him, her fingers running over the wrapping. “You always do the most,” she teased, shaking it lightly. “Is this something expensive? ‘Cause you know I don’t need—” She stopped, eyes narrowing playfully. “Wait, is this a puppy?”

Emon chuckled. “Girl, if you don’t just open the damn box.”

She shook it again and smiled before ripping the paper off and tearing the box open. Her breath caught in her throat as she pulled out the custom throw blanket. The images of her father and her blurred as tears welled in her eyes. The memories hit her like a tidal wave. Her fourth birthday, cake smeared all over her face as her dad laughed beside her. The beach trip when she was seven, gripping onto his shoulders, smiling wide while waves rushed around them.

She traced her fingers over his face in the photos, her voice barely above a whisper. “How? How did you do this?”

“Later there’s something else.”

She found a small recorder in the bottom of the box and her face scrunched in confusion.

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