The party had begun to settle into a warm, comforting hum — laughter bubbling at the tables like a gentle brook, the clinking of glasses creating a symphony of toasts, and the faint rhythm of music seeping through the walls, wrapping around everyone like a cozy blanket. Kendrick lingered by the corner table, his gaze drawn to Elsie as she gracefully sliced into the cake, her movements careful and deliberate. Each piece she handed out came with that same composed smile, the kind that was both a mask and a comfort, betraying her nervousness only to him.
As conversations swirled around them, Kendrick felt a pull that drew him closer. "Hey," he murmured softly, just loud enough for her to hear above the chatter.
Startled, she looked up, their eyes locking momentarily, sweeping away the noise of the world. The air between them thickened, filled with unspoken words and stolen moments. It was as if time itself had paused just for them.
In that instant, Kendrick was struck anew by how ethereal she seemed. The soft glow of candlelight danced across her features, accentuating the delicate curve of her cheekbones and the graceful line of her jaw. Her lashes, dark and inviting, caught the light when she blinked, and her eyes — bright, liquid, and unyieldingly steady — held his gaze with an intensity that felt like a silent dare. A loose strand of hair slipped past her ear, and it felt as if even the tiniest movements were orchestrated by some unseen force, making each heartbeat stretch out in fragile wonder.
Almost instinctively, Kendrick reached out, brushing the stray hair aside, his fingers grazing her temple. In that fleeting touch, everything faded away — the lively crowd, the years that had shaped them into who they were now, and the weight of the world they carried.
"You shouldn't look at me like that," she whispered, her voice low and laced with uncertainty.
He offered her a faint smile, one that flickered between warmth and mischief. "Then don't stand so close."
Her laughter, soft and breathy, escaped her lips like a gentle breeze — an echo of the joy he hadn't heard in years, and it stirred something deep within him.
"So," she said, gathering herself, "what did you wish for?"
Kendrick's gaze fell, tracing the rim of his glass with his thumb as he pondered. "My mom," he confessed quietly, the weight of his words heavy with longing. "I wished she'd stop worrying so much. But there's another wish I am not sharing."
Elsie's expression softened, a glimmer of understanding shining in her eyes. "She still calls you every morning?"
"Every morning," he replied with a smirk, a bittersweet smile surfacing on his lips. "Tells me to eat more, sleep more, marry sooner."
She chuckled, a playful lightness in her tone. "Same old Misses Langston."
A thoughtful silence stretched between them, Kendrick's gaze drifting as he pondered. "If I could tell her one thing tonight… it'd be that I'm okay. That she doesn't have to worry anymore."
Elsie tilted her head slightly, her expression imbued with a gentle curiosity. "And would that be true?" she asked, her voice softening with empathy.
Before he could find the words, a firm hand landed on his shoulder, shattering the moment.
"Man of the hour!"
Kendrick turned to see Damien, wearing a wide grin, a drink held confidently in one hand, mischief glinting in his eyes.
"Don't tell me you're hiding from your own party, bro," Damien said, his gaze flitting between Kendrick and Elsie, an all-knowing smirk tugging on his lips. "Come on, everyone's waiting for you to make a toast. Don't make me drag you."
At that, Elsie instinctively stepped back, tucking that loose strand behind her ear, and Kendrick felt the delicate tether between them snap, reality rushing back in.
"Duty calls," he murmured, offering her a small, apologetic smile before he followed Damien toward the crowd.
As he walked away, the image of her bathed in golden light lingered in his mind — fragile and radiant, a jewel amidst the chaos of life.
Meanwhile, Elsie sought refuge at the drink bar, where Joan was busy with her sleeves rolled up, scanning the counter with all the seriousness of a general preparing for battle.
"Making sure we don't run out of ammunition?" Elsie teased, leaning casually against the counter, her spirits buoyed by the brief connection.
Joan looked up, a grin spreading across her face. "You know how your people drink. I'm not risking a mutiny before midnight."
Elsie laughed, grabbing a glass. "You say that like you're not the one who ordered six extra bottles."
"That's called foresight, darling," Joan shot back, tossing her braids over her shoulder playfully. "Besides, someone has to make sure the boss's big night doesn't turn into a dry disaster."
Their familiar banter caused them to burst into laughter — light and unguarded, effortlessly rekindled between them.
A few moments later, Kendrick returned, his presence commanding attention, as always. He had shed his jacket, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to the elbows, radiating an effortless calm amidst the bustling noise.
"Ladies," he said, his voice low but warm, "mind if I steal Elsie for a bit?"
Joan regarded them with mock suspicion, her brow furrowing playfully. "Oh, I see how it is. You two teaming up and leaving me with this circus?"
Kendrick's mouth quirked into a knowing smile. "You'll survive."
Joan waved a dismissive hand. "Fine, fine. Go. Leave my single ass here with the champagne and bad decisions."
Elsie laughed, giving her friend a playful nudge. "Don't be so feisty, Joan. The right guy might just walk up and offer you a drink."
Joan rolled her eyes dramatically, a playful grin still lingering. "The right guy would've texted me back three years ago."
Their laughter echoed in the air as Joan returned to her post behind the bar, and Kendrick gestured toward the staircase.
"Come on," he said, his voice inviting. "There's something you should see."
The rooftop welcomed them with a rush of cool wind and the distant twinkle of city lights, a breathtaking panorama stretching out before them. Below, the muffled thump of music reverberated through the walls; above, the canopy of stars appeared like scattered diamonds against the dark velvet sky.
Elsie wrapped her arms around herself, a soft smile blooming on her face. "I didn't know there was a rooftop here."
"Most people don't," Kendrick said, stepping to the railing and taking in the view. "Needed somewhere to breathe."
For a moment, an unspoken understanding hung between them, the world narrowing down to just the two of them under the vastness of the sky — until Kendrick's phone buzzed in his pocket, shattering the tranquil moment.
He glanced at the screen, a smile breaking across his face. "Alicia."
He put her on speaker. "Hey, little sister."
Alicia's cheerful voice filled the quiet air.
"About time! I was starting to think you forgot how to answer calls."
Elsie chuckled. "Hi, Alicia."
"Elsie!" Alicia squealed. "You're still as gorgeous as ever. Mom says you've been keeping him too busy to call her."
Kendrick smirked. "So Mom's not mad I missed the party?"
"Not even close," Alicia giggled. "Actually, it went better than we thought. She said it was peaceful for once — probably because the birthday boy wasn't there to steal the spotlight."
Elsie laughed, covering her mouth. "That sounds about right."
Kendrick shook his head, amused. "Peaceful, huh? Should I be worried?"
"No, but you should be curious," Alicia said, a teasing note in her voice.
He raised an eyebrow. "What are you up to, Alicia?"
"Can't tell you yet," she replied quickly. "It's not the right time. But you'll find out soon — trust me."
Kendrick sighed. "You know I hate surprises."
"You'll survive," she echoed mischievously. "Now get to the mansion. Both of you. Mom's waiting."
The call ended with Alicia's laughter fading into the night.
For a long moment, Kendrick and Elsie stood there, the wind tugging at her hair, the city glowing below. He slipped his phone back into his pocket and met her eyes.
"Looks like we're being summoned," he said with a half-smile.
Elsie smiled back. "Then I guess the night's not over yet."
And with that, they turned toward the door — the hum of the city rising behind them, and something unspoken following close in the dark.