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“You’ll see.”

I narrow my eyes at her, but she only smiles wider. Whatever she's hiding, she's managed to keep Soph quiet too, which honestly feels more suspicious than anything else. I gave up trying to figure it out yesterday.

The ride up is quick. When the elevator doors slide open to the penthouse level, Peyton moves to the back of me and the lights flick on.

“Surprise!”

Familiar voices fill the apartment all at once. Tilly squeals at the sudden burst of noise, her hands flapping excitedly like she’s just been invited to the greatest party of her life.

I stand there, rooted to the spot. My favorite people in New York are here. Not for Eli, Rose or one of Soph's spontaneous reality show watch parties. For me. The realization settles deep in my chest, warm and overwhelming, before Soph is the first to reach me.

She throws her arms around my middle in a hug that nearly knocks me sideways. “Happy birthday, old man!”

“What’s up with you and Chase both calling me that? I’m only twenty-eight!” I protest, trying not to laugh as she pulls back.

“Still older than me,” she points out.

Jax pushes himself off the couch behind her, a crooked grin spreading across his face. “Don’t worry,” my chosen brother says as he comes over and hugs me next. “You’re still secretly her favorite. Happy birthday, man.”

When he pulls away, his attention immediately shifts to Tilly. “How are you already getting bigger, my little princess? I only just saw you last week and you must’ve grown another inch.”

Jax lifts the smiling baby from the stroller, settling her against his chest. It still amazes me how she belongs to all of us now. Two months ago Tilly barely knew anyone beyond me. Now she has an entire collection of people admiring her, each convinced they're her favorite. Maybe they're all right. Tilly has enough love for everyone.

“See?” Jax says, glancing my way. “Tilly’s happy to see me, her favorite uncle.”

“Don’t let Chase hear that,” Peyton comments from where she’s been chatting with Soph.

Eli steps forward and claps me on the shoulder. “Happy birthday, brother. Glad to share another year with you.”

My throat tightens unexpectedly and it takes me a moment to find my voice. “Thanks,” I manage, the single word carrying far more gratitude than I'll ever be able to say out loud.

“Happy birthday, sweetie!” Rose follows him and gives me a hug tighter than any of the other ones so far. “I ordered us far too much food, so you’re going to have to help us fix that.”

My gaze moves toward the dining table. Candles flicker in small glass holders down the center, their light dancing across the polished wood. Linen napkins are folded beside each plate and a jar of fresh flowers sits among the dishes spread across the table. It’s beyond beautiful. It's also unmistakably Rose. Every little detail has her fingerprints on it, from the flowers to the candles that make a penthouse feel like home instead of something from a magazine. That’s why she and Eli work so well together. He builds the walls. She fills them with warmth.

Growing up, birthdays like other holidays depended on whoever happened to be responsible for us that year. Sometimes foster parents remembered. Sometimes they didn't. I can't tell you what I got for my tenth birthday or whether there even was a present. Somewhere along the way birthdays became just another square on the calendar. This...this feels different. And I don’t know how to feel other than grateful.

“Come on, dinner’s getting cold,” Rose says.

We gather around the table in comfortable chaos that ensues whenever we all get together. Soph pours wine for everyone except Peyton, who rarely drinks, and Jax slides a basket of bread toward me while Eli begins carving the chicken. Tilly sits in the highchair Rose set up beside the table, following every hand that reaches for a dish or lifts a glass.

Eli passes the platter of chicken down the table. “Did you ever finish that Mustang you were working on last week?” he asks me.

“Almost,” I reply, taking the dish from him. “Still fighting with the carburetor on that one.”

Jax looks up, interest lighting his face the way it always does when anything with motors comes up. “The ’65 one?”

“That would be the one.”

“You replace everything?” I nod as a reply and Jax lets out a low whistle of approval. “About time.”

“It wasn’t that bad.”

“It absolutely was. I thought the engine was about to file a formal complaint.”

Across the table, Soph snorts into her wine glass. Rose, meanwhile, looks genuinely interested in the conversation. “What color are you painting it?”

“Original blue,” I answer.