The pretty elf shook her head. “You stay,” she said, halfway to the door. “No need for you to leave. I’ll go get it. I’ll be right back.” She jerked to a stop and retraced her steps, smiling and bright. “Here,” she said, taking her hat off and putting it on me. “Wear this.”

Ivy snickered, and I reached up to touch it. “Thanks,” I said, cursing my outright fear of hurting her feelings. Great. I was going to be eating cake in a silly hat. Damn it, no one had better have a camera.

Keasley’s brown, arthritic hands gathered up the handles of the canvas grocery sacks. “I’ll take those. You entertain,” he said, pulling them from the couch. Hesitating, he turned, bending his once-tall height to give me a fatherly kiss on the cheek. “Happy birthday, Rachel. You’re quite the young woman. Your father would be proud of you.”

If they were trying to cheer me up, they were doing a lousy job of it. “Thanks,” I said, feeling my throat start to take on a lump.

I turned, looking for something to do. Ivy was supervising Jenks handing out soda to his kids in little cups made from the plastic plugs they put in pressboard furniture to hide the holes. David caught my eye and started over. His worn brown boots showed from under his blue jeans, and he scuffed to an uncertain halt. I hadn’t seen him since the night I’d been lying on the floor, drugged as he told Minias that he had a legal right to make decisions for me. David had saved my life as much as Ceri.

“Happy birthday,” he said, clearly wanting to say something more. Hell, a handshake wasn’t going to do it, and as a wash of gratitude warmed me, I reached out and brought him close, taking him in a hug. His arms were solid and real. Comforting. The complicated scent of Were filled my senses, and I closed my eyes, feeling my chest grow heavy when I noticed the differences between being held by him and Kisten. I’d never hold Kisten again.

I clenched my jaw and refused to cry. I didn’t want to talk about Kisten. I wanted to pretend we were all normal. But I had to say something. I couldn’t let David think I wasn’t grateful for what he’d done. “Thank you,” I said into his shirt. “Thank you for saving my life.”

“It was an honor.” His voice rumbled from him to me through his chest, and his hold on me grew more certain now that he knew that the depth of my emotion was coming from gratitude.

“I’m sorry about Brett,” I said miserably, and his grip tightened.