The problem with having a secret was that ordinary kindness started looking suspicious.

Adrian moved a meeting for me. Naturally, I decided this meant I should plan an elaborate thank-you dinner.

Noah called it an expensive method of avoiding a conversation.

“I prefer the term strategic appreciation,” I said.

“You prefer anything that doesn't involve telling him how you feel.”

“I'm telling him on my birthday.”

“You've mentioned.”

“Thirteen days.”

“I'm hanging up.”

I spent the next afternoon making reservations at the little Italian restaurant Adrian loved near the pier.

I also spent forty minutes studying the menu because Adrian hated surprises that came with unnecessary expenses.

When he arrived home, I stood in the hall holding two jackets.

“Pick one,” I demanded.

He glanced between them. “Are we evacuating?”

“Dinner. My treat.”

“What's the occasion?”

“You're not allowed to interrogate the host.”

“Did you break something?”

“Your faith in me, apparently.”

He laughed but checked his calendar. “I have a report due.”

“An hour. I booked the early seating.”

His eyebrows rose. “You planned around my schedule?”

“I'm capable of being thoughtful.”

“I know you are.”

That simple answer stole my next joke.

At the restaurant, the hostess recognized his name. Adrian looked from the reserved table to me.

“You remembered this place.”

“You once said their mushroom ravioli could solve most human problems.”

“I was having a difficult week.”

“And did it solve them?”

“Temporarily.”

“Then tonight we're conducting a follow-up study.”

He took his seat smiling. I ordered sparkling water, partly because it felt fancy, mostly because my hands needed something to do.

We talked about graduation, my summer plans, and his architectural sketches.

Adrian had wanted to design buildings since he was a teenager. I knew because he'd shown me every crooked early drawing.

He showed me a rendering on his phone: a public library with wide windows and a courtyard.

“It's beautiful,” I said.

“It's only a proposal.”

“It's still beautiful.”

He looked at the screen, then at me. “You always say that.”

“Because your work is good.”

“Because you're loyal.”

“Both can be true.”

The waiter brought our food. Adrian tried mine, made a surprised face, and immediately ordered the same dish for himself.

“Excellent decision-making,” I said.

“You chose it for me.”

“I know your heart.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You know my stomach.”

“It's a start.”

Halfway through dinner, I asked why he never brought dates home.

He set down his fork. “That's personal.”

“I'm an excellent listener.”

“You're a relentless interviewer.”

“Both can be true.”

He smiled. “Work's been busy. I haven't met anyone I want to build something with.”

“Something?”

“A life. A routine. A place that feels like home.”

I stared at him. This was the sort of answer that made my ridiculous heart behave even more ridiculously.

“What if the right person has been right in front of you?” I asked.

Adrian studied the candle between us.

“Then I hope I'd be brave enough to recognize them.”

I forgot every clever reply I'd prepared.

“Do you think you're brave?” I asked.

“Not always.”

“Me neither.”

He gave me a thoughtful look. “That's new. Usually you claim to be fearless.”

“I'm afraid of spiders.”

“And dentist appointments.”

“And losing things I care about.”

His expression gentled. “That's normal, Ethan.”

I wanted to say it wasn't normal to rehearse a confession for weeks. Instead, I asked about dessert.

We shared tiramisu because he insisted one portion was enough and I insisted stealing half was a human right.

When the bill arrived, he reached for it.

“No,” I said, pulling it away. “I invited you.”

“Ethan—”

“Please. You do so much for me. Let me do this.”

He leaned back, considering. “All right.”

It was a tiny victory. Somehow, it mattered more than the dinner.

Outside, rain swept across the sidewalk before we reached the parking lot.

Adrian immediately offered his coat. I pushed it back toward him.

“You'll get soaked.”

“So will you.”

“Then we'll both survive.”

He retrieved an umbrella from the trunk, and we crossed the street beneath it, shoulders bumping whenever we laughed.

At the curb, a cyclist splashed through a puddle. I pulled Adrian away from the spray by his sleeve.

“Watch it,” I called after the rider.

“I'm fine,” Adrian said.

“I know. I just didn't want your shoes ruined.”

“They're shoes.”

“They're your favorite shoes.”

He looked down, surprised. “You noticed?”

“I notice a lot.”

For a moment, he didn't speak. Then he adjusted the umbrella so neither of us stood in the rain.

Back home, I found a folded receipt in my pocket and wrote the date on its back.

I wanted proof of the evening. Not because it had been perfect, but because Adrian had let me take care of him.

Later, I carried a mug of tea toward his office and heard Ryan's voice through the partly open door.

“I'm telling you, Adrian. You should try dating someone you already know.”

I stopped, suddenly feeling foolish for listening.

The next day, I asked Adrian whether he'd enjoyed dinner. He said yes, then asked why I looked as though I expected a grade.

I admitted that I'd worried the restaurant would be too loud. He told me the best part had been talking without either of us checking the clock.

That answer gave me a new idea. I opened a document titled Birthday and wrote three words at the top: No rushing anywhere.

At school, Noah watched me rearrange the itinerary again. He suggested I leave room for surprises, since people weren't machines that followed schedules.

I knew he was right. Adrian deserved an enjoyable day, not a performance built around my hopes.

That evening, I deleted half the planned activities. I kept the beach, dinner, and one secret surprise. The rest could happen naturally.

Adrian replied, “It's not that simple.”

“Why not?”

A long silence followed.

“Because sometimes you care about someone enough to worry about changing things,” Adrian said.

On Thursday, Adrian texted me a photograph of the restaurant's dessert menu. He'd returned there for a work lunch and recognized the tiramisu.

He wrote: Still think you chose the best dessert. I answered: My judgment is flawless, except when it comes to algebra.

He replied with a laughing emoji and offered to help me study. I accepted, then regretted how quickly I had answered.

That evening, we spread worksheets across the dining table. Adrian didn't solve the problems for me. He asked questions until I found the answers.

When I finally understood the last equation, he gave me a triumphant high five. It was ridiculous how proud that made me feel.

My grip tightened around the mug.

Ryan asked another question, but a passing truck swallowed the words.

Then Adrian said, very quietly, “I have thought about it. It's complicated.”

I stepped back before either of them noticed me.

There were dozens of explanations. Ryan might have meant an old friend or a coworker.

Still, my mind supplied the one explanation I feared most.

What if Adrian already wanted somebody else?

The tea cooled in my hands. For the first time, the birthday countdown felt less like a promise and more like a deadline.