She's beautiful. He's rich. They met by chance. Today is her birthday and she only has one wish. All she has to do is blow out the candles.
About 4,000 words
Excerpt:
The candles' glow gilds his beautiful face into a golden mask that belongs in a museum, not in my living room. Only Eric's eyes are warmly alive, his features frozen in an expectant smile over the small cake in his hands.
To ensure my full attention, he clears his throat pompously, laughs at himself, then sings the birthday song, not badly.
He stops, grins impishly, and adds the first line of the verse about how old I am.
"Thirty, and you know it, too." Thirty! Time's flying past and there are so many things I haven't done. Run my own business. Learn Spanish. Ride in a hot air balloon. Take piano lessons. Travel. Write poetry. Fall in love.
"Happy birthday, Molly. Blow out your candles before there's as much wax as frosting."
"Oh, Eric, this is too much! You didn't have to do all this."
"It's your birthday. I wanted to make a fuss, especially since nobody else is."
My co-workers took me out to lunch, and a fancy cupcake appeared at my workstation while I was gone. That and a card from Dad, his scribbled note promising business-class tickets the next time I could get away for a visit, seemed like fuss enough.
Besides, Eric can afford to be lavish. That doesn't mean he should. We've gone out five times, and he only knew today was my birthday because he admired the card on the refrigerator door last weekend and opened it to see who the artist was.
"You were generous taking me to such a fancy restaurant." I won't tell him I didn't enjoy it, even though the food was wonderful. "Now I can say I've been there. Enough, already." I pretend to be annoyed.
It doesn't fool him. "Blow out your candles and make a wish." He sets the little cake on the coffee table and steps back, watching intently.
I snuff out the lives of thirty candles without remorse.
Eric applauds. "What did you wish for?" he asks.
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