Like simply thinking it summoned him, soft blue starts cutting through the gummy air, wrapping around me like a shield. My shoulders relax as Adam appears in the doorway to the kitchen, brow furrowed and holding a wooden spoon covered in what looks like chocolate. Our eyes lock and the lines between his eyebrows soften as he gives me the little half smile I’ve gotten so used to. The response in my body is instantaneous—the blue-green wave washes over me completely, clearing me out and lifting me up.

“Hey,” I croak, my throat clogged from the stuff that’s been bogging down the atmosphere in the house.

“Hey.” His smile grows a little stronger.

“Uh.” I blink, knowing there’s a next step to this dance but forgetting what it is. Then it clicks.

“Happy birthday,” I blurt out awkwardly, taking a step toward him, the hand holding his present—which I’d forgotten about until right now—hanging stiffly at my side.

“Thanks,” he says. The blue-green lightens and expands, changing the colors on the butterflies darting between us.

“What’s with the spoon?” I ask.

“Oh.” He looks at his hand like he’d forgotten he was holding anything. “I’m making a cake.”

“On your birthday?” I ask, confused.

“Yeah, of course.” He grins and I feel the warm breeze that comes along whenever Adam wants to tease me. “That’s kind of the day to do it.”

“Usually people don’t make their own cakes,” I counter, unable to stop myself from grinning back at him. He has a buoyancy that I haven’t felt in weeks and it’s making me carefree and happy.

“I like baking.” He shrugs, pleased with himself.

“Adam wanted to make sure the cake was perfect and he doesn’t trust his old man to do it right,” Mr. Hayes jokes, reminding both Adam and me that his parents are still standing between us.

“Dad,” Adam moans, rolling his eyes.

“Okay, okay”—Mr. Hayes throws up his hands in surrender—“I concede, you are the better baker.” A brief beam of pride shines from Adam. “So I’ll go and deal with the boring dinner stuff. Are you all done in there?”

“Yeah,” Adam says, “just put this back with the frosting?” Mr. Hayes takes the spoon from Adam and walks toward the kitchen, making a show of running his finger through the chocolate and taking a taste, winking at me and smiling big. I laugh politely at the dad humor but Adam is oblivious, which is probably for the best, given the quick, hot jab of embarrassment that shot up when Mr. Hayes spoke.

“Why don’t the two of you go into the living room and I’ll make sure Elijah doesn’t burn the house down.” Mrs. Hayes shakes her head at the sky and waves an arm toward what I assume is the living room before turning to follow her husband.