She takes me clothes shopping, which is odd because it’s rare you’d find me outside of work in anything other than Dylan’s shirts.

It’s lunchtime by the time we get back. I park in the garage like I do every other time, but when I open the door to the yard and the shout of “Surprise!” fills my ears, I kind of just stand there, shocked. Everyone’s here; Mom, Mal, Eric, a few people from work and the rest of the gang.

“What—why?”

“Dylan,” Mal states.

And they all lower their heads for a moment of silence. Until Lucy laughs. “I couldn’t hold it in,” she says. Then claps at everyone’s skilled synchronization.

Sydney smacks my ass. “Go get changed into your new clothes,” she orders, and suddenly it all makes sense.

“Have you heard from him?” Sydney asks, patting her stomach.

I lean back in my chair, my belly full from all the food Mal prepared on the grill. “I’m sure he would’ve contacted me if it were possible.”

She grins. “Oh, I’m sure. He’d hate to be missing out on your twenty-first birthday.”

“And our one-year anniversary,” I tell her, my smile wider than hers.

“Oh yeah?”

“I mean, technically, probably not. But it was the beginning of it all.”

Lucy approaches, phone to her ear. She hangs up when she gets to me. “That was Cameron. He wanted to apologize. He got held up at work but he’s on his way.”

There’s that awkward moment at every party when everyone circles the cake while they sing Happy Birthday, all eyes on you, and you kind of just sit there waiting for the song to be over and the focus to switch to anything else so you’re no longer embarrassed.

The first song seems to go on forever.

Then mom states that she hadn’t recorded it properly and we need to do it again. So everyone laughs and they repeat the song, a little less enthused than the first time. When it’s over we all look at mom, making sure she’s not so Dylan with technology and when she gives a thumbs up and says, “Make your wish, Riley,” I lower my gaze and take a calming breath.

I wonder for a second if I should blow out the candles individually. Would twenty-one wishes for Dylan have the same effect as one big one?

I lean down, feeling the warmth of the candles against my cheek. Then I close my eyes, suck in a breath, and I think about the boy I love. The boy I miss more than anything. My lips part—his name on repeat in my head. Then I make my wish, and I blow.

“Happy Birthday, baby.”

My eyes snap open. There’s a figure to my right—one I swore wasn’t there a minute ago but I’m too afraid to look because as much as I believe in wishes, they don’t happen this fast.

I struggle to swallow as I look up at everyone watching me, their eyes on mine, their smiles in place.

Nothing has changed.

It’s in my head. It’s gotta be.

I close my eyes again, letting the disappointment set in.

“What did you wish for, babe?” Same voice. Only louder.

I open my eyes and look for Jake. “Jake,” I whisper, my body shaking. I’m too afraid to turn to the imaginary sound. To the imaginary Dylan. Tears fight their way out of me. As do the butterflies. “Jake,” I say again. “I can hear him.”

Next to him, Mikayla’s crying. Jake doesn’t seem to hear me though. Or at least he pretends like he doesn’t because he won’t respond. I stand quickly and march over to him, still refusing to let my hopes control my senses. I stand in front of Jake, my eyes locked on his. “Jake. Is he real?”

Jake nods. “Yes, Riley. He’s real.”

I push on his chest because I’m angry he’s saying such a thing, even in my dreams. Because I’m sure that’s what this is. A dream. A big, fat, stupid, heartbreaking dream. “Don’t lie to me, Jake. Is. He. Real?”

I don’t know why people are laughing when I’m crying and it’s my damn dream.

Jake grasps my shoulders and bends so we’re eye to eye. “Riley,” he says, his voice calm and soothing. “Dylan’s home.” Then he spins me around until I’m face to face with a boy I’ve missed more than words could describe. He’s standing in front of me; head to toe in camo and he’s so much more than I remember him to be. So much. He takes a step forward, his hand already raised, his deep blue eyes locked on mine. Then he smiles. And everyone and everything else disappears and it’s just me and him and the power of wishes. “Hi,” he says, and I jump forward, my arms and legs around him. I kiss him. Every single inch of his beautiful face. His lips—lips I’d missed so much and the second he comes to, his arms go around me, holding me to him, returning every one of my kisses with his own. I pull back, just long enough to ask, “What are you doing here?” But he doesn’t get a chance to respond before my mouth covers his and I can hear people laughing, hear Eric call out for us to get a room but I don’t care because he’s home. Dylan’s home. Why is he home?

I release him quickly, my feet finding the ground. “Why are you home? Are you hurt? What happened?” I check his body for any sign of injury, running my hands over his shoulders and stomach and God, I missed him.

“I’m on R&R,” he tells me. “And I came home for you.”

“For me?”

He shakes his head, his teeth clamping down on his bottom lip as he eyes me up and down. “God, baby. I didn’t realize how much I missed you until now.”

I throw my arms around his waist and squeeze and squeeze until all air’s left both our lungs. Everyone’s still laughing and I still don’t care. “I’m never letting you go again,” I tell him.

He chuckles. I missed his chuckle the most. “You’re going to have to in twelve days.”

My eyes widen as I look back up at him. “Twelve days?”

A frown pulls on his lips. “Yeah. I couldn’t get any more—” My grin must cut him off. “You’re not disappointed?”

“Dylan! I have you for twelve whole days!”

Eric chimes in. “Can I say hello to my baby bro now?”

I let Dylan say hello to everyone and I introduce him to my friends from work he doesn’t know. The entire time I hold onto his arm, afraid he’ll fly away if I let him go.

He looks at me mid-conversation with our friends before bending down to my ear and whispering, “I’m going to take a shower. Bedroom. Five minutes.”

I watch him walk through the back door, nudging Eric as he does. Whatever Dylan must say to him has him looking over at me and nodding. I pull my phone out from my bra and check the time. And I continue to do so—watching the minutes tick away.

It’s not until my hand’s covering the handle of the bedroom door that the nerves kick in. Along with the same butterflies from earlier. I take a breath. Or ten. And check the time again.

Six minutes.

With all the courage I can possible muster, I press down on the handle and peek inside.

He’s just gotten out of the shower, his shoulders still wet as he goes through his drawers, his back turned. He’s wearing a towel around his waist and nothing else. Then he does the worst (or best) thing he can possibly do. He drops the towel, giving me a perfect view of his beautifully toned ass.