Lois had a theory about birthdays.
For years, she had hated her birthday. No matter how hard she tried, no matter what she planned, it always seemed to end with her in tears. Whether it was her tenth birthday when her mother got drunk at her party and tipped over a punchbowl, or her fourteenth birthday when her father had a work emergency and had to cancel the sailing trip he’d promised, or her twenty-first birthday when not a single one of her friends was available to go out with her, or any of the other less-memorable birthdays in between, the fact remained that by the time she was in her early twenties, she dreaded the day.
But over the last few years, she had developed her theory. It wasn’t that she was actually more likely to have a miserable day. It was simply that society put so much emphasis on birthdays that it made people expect that their birthdays would somehow be special. The sun would shine, the birds would chirp, and all your wishes would come true. So when the day turned out to be just another average day, it felt miserable. The key was to have no expectations.
So, when she woke up on her birthday to the sound of the ringing phone, her first instinct was to assume it was some calamity. Or at the very least, her mother. But then she remembered her theory, and she pushed aside her fear. It was probably just a wrong number.
“Hello?” she said, her voice wary in spite of herself.
“Hey! Happy birthday!” His voice was so cheerful. She knew instantly that Clark Kent had never had to come up with any theories about birthdays.
“Hi,” she said softly, her voice still thick with sleep.
“Did I wake you?” he said. “It’s almost eight there. I was half afraid you’d already be on your way to work.”
“I worked late last night, so I’m going in a little late this morning,” she said, yawning. “My alarm is going to go off any minute.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice contrite. “I just wanted to say happy birthday before I had to leave for work. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
She closed her eyes, letting his voice wash over her. “Don’t apologize,” she said. “Trust me, I’d rather wake up to your voice than the alarm.”
He chuckled softly, and she felt a rush of warmth spread through her body. She closed her eyes and settled back into her pillow, imagining him there.
“What are you doing today?” he asked. “Besides working. Do you have any plans? Are you going to Taekwondo?”
She hummed an non-answer, knowing he was waiting for her to talk about a birthday dinner with friends or some other fun activity. He didn’t know her theory.
“I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t really have anything planned. Taekwondo is canceled tonight. A bunch of the dojo staff are at a conference this week. Unless something big breaks, I’ll probably just come home and relax. Watch a movie or something.”
He was quiet for a moment, and she worried that he was pitying her, imagining his own birthday celebrations, which she could only imagine were filled with laughter and friends. She braced herself for him to encourage her to go out, to do something fun.
“I wish I could be there,” he said instead, and it was longing in his voice, not pity.
“Me too,” she said immediately, not realizing until it was out of her mouth how desperately she meant it. He was the only person she wanted to spend this day with.
“Six more days,” he said, and she knew instantly that he had been secretly counting down too.
“Six more days,” she agreed.
They were quiet for a minute, neither of them quite sure what to say.
“I hate missing your birthday,” he said.
“We’ll celebrate when you're here next week,” she said.
“I know,” he said softly, and she wondered at the frustration in his voice. As if he was somehow responsible for the distance between them. As if it was his choice to miss her birthday.
“I wish I could fly to you,” he said, his voice barely more than whisper, and her heart lurched.
“Wouldn’t that be wonderful?” she said wistfully. “When I dreamed about flying, it was always about the sensation. I never thought about how convenient it would be.”
He was quiet, but she could hear him breathing, slow and measured.
She opened her eyes and looked at the alarm clock on her nightstand. 7:50. “You’re going to be late for work,” she said softly.
He sighed, obviously reluctant to hang up. “I shouldn't have called you before work,” he teased gently. “I didn’t think about how hard it was going to be to hang up after just a minute.”
She sighed too, acknowledging that same feeling.
“I’ll call you when I get home from practice,” he said. “When we have more than just a couple minutes to talk.”
“Okay,” she said, already calculating the number of hours until she would hear his voice again. “Have a good day at work.”
“Lois,” he said, and then paused, as if he wanted to say something more but stopped himself.
“Clark?”
He hesitated just another second. Then his warm voice swept over her again. “Happy birthday, honey. I’ll call you as soon as I get home.”
She said goodbye and hung up, then reached over to her nightstand to adjust the alarm clock, giving herself another half hour to sleep. She closed her eyes and let herself drift in and out of consciousness, his face in her mind, his voice in her ear, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.
When she finally rose from bed forty minutes later and made her way to the shower, he was all she could think about. His sweet, soft voice. The way he longed to be with her on her birthday and made no effort to hide that desire.
Six more days.
The weather was beautiful, and she was in no hurry, so she walked to work, stopping in the lobby to order coffee from the kiosk rather than subjecting herself to the pot in the newsroom. She rifled through her bag as she rode the elevator up, looking for the file she had brought home to study last night.
There had to be a connection between TeleCorp and Intergang. Her scouring of the financials had turned up nothing, so now she was digging deeper into the leadership of the company, looking for a personal connection.
The elevator dinged, and the door slid open. She stepped out, heading for the ramp, and her eyes drifted automatically to her desk.
She shook her head and barely stifled a laugh. He was so sneaky. He hadn’t said a single word this morning about flowers, but there on her desk was a stunning bouquet, an explosion of pinks and creams against the dreary backdrop of her desk and bullpen beyond. She quickened her step, eager to get a better look.
They were every bit as beautiful close up. She ran her finger over a silky rose petal and leaned in to take a deep breath, soaking in their sweet smell.
She leaned back, suddenly realizing something was missing and tilted her head, considering. On the other side of the low cubicle wall, Cat said nothing and never took her eyes off her computer screen, but reached beside her keyboard and picked up a small envelope, then held it in the air between two fingers.
“Seriously?” Lois said, reaching for it. But her mood was too good to be dampened by Cat’s audacity. If anything, she wanted to laugh.
Cat looked up from her screen, and ran her eyes over Lois from head to toe, blatantly assessing her. She shook her head and curled her lip, and Lois knew she had been found wanting. Lois looked down at her navy and white pinstriped suit and looked back up.
“What?” she asked, waiting for the inevitable insult.
“Just trying to figure out if under those hideous suits, you’re some sort of sex goddess,” Cat said skeptically, releasing the card.
“What?” Lois spluttered.
“I can think of no other reason for that man to be so completely besotted with you,” Cat said, turning her attention back to her computer.
Lois pulled the card from the envelope and flipped it open. She recognized his familiar handwriting immediately, and then his words began to register, and she couldn’t think of anything else.
When with moss and honey
She tips her bending briar,
And half unfolds her glowing heart,
She sets the world on fire.
You set my world on fire.
Happy birthday
CK
She inhaled sharply, her heart swollen tight in her chest. She was frozen, unable to move or think or breathe. This was… He was… Incredible.
She exhaled finally, and sat in her chair, card still in hand.
“Well?” Cat said. “Are you?”
“Am I what?” she asked, booting up her computer.
“Some sort of sex goddess.”
“Why? You need some new tips?” Lois parried.
Cat snorted, and Lois glanced over at her, expecting to see derision, but instead Cat smirked and tipped her head, acknowledging a well-placed blow.
“Seriously,” Cat said, raising an eyebrow. “What did you do to that man when you went there in September? Did you spend three days in bed blowing his innocent little Kansas mind?”
Lois turned her attention back to her computer, refusing to acknowledge that question. When she glanced back up a minute later, Cat was still staring, waiting for an answer.
She rolled her eyes, torn between desperately wanting to talk about him and the knowledge that Cat was the last person she should be confiding in. But she didn’t have anyone else.
She grimaced, and then turned her eyes back to her screen. “We didn’t-” she started haltingly. “We haven’t…yet.”
Cat was silent, and Lois ventured a glance back in her direction. Cat’s mouth was wide open in shock. Then she closed her mouth, her eyes narrowing as well. Slowly a grin began to spread across her face.
“You’re playing hard to get. You’re smarter than I gave you credit for.”
Lois rolled her eyes, immediately regretting saying anything. Of course Cat didn’t understand. And now she was never going to hear the end of it.
“I’m not playing anything,” she said. As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she realized she had given Cat all the ammunition she would ever need in their little war. What better proof that Lois was the cold fish than the fact that she wasn’t sleeping with this incredibly gorgeous, incredibly romantic man.
Cat was silent, and out of the corner of her eye, Lois could see that she was being watched with a raised eyebrow. But she wasn’t smirking. She looked genuinely interested.
“I’ve rushed in before,” Lois said softly, surprising herself with this unplanned confession. “I believed him when told me I was special and beautiful and we could be perfect together. I haven’t always been the best judge of character. I don’t have a great track record with…relationships. This time… I wanted to be sure. And now… I don’t want to mess this one up. We’re just…taking things slow. I want to– We want to get it right. It’s important.”
Cat’s brow furrowed in confusion, and Lois could see her searching her memory for any man Lois might have mentioned previously. She saw the moment it clicked. The shock in Cat’s eyes as their gazes met.
“Those rumors were true? You slept with him? You were a baby! You were like…twelve.”
Lois shook her head and scoffed. “I was twenty-one,” she corrected.
“You looked twelve,” Cat said, her tone more defensive than insulting. “And he was a creep. He thought he was god’s gift. You know he-“
“That story he won the Kerth for?” Lois said, interrupting her before Cat could detail all Claude’s sexual conquests. “The firefighters with the faulty protective gear?”
Cat nodded.
“That was my story,” Lois said quietly, her voice bitter for the first time in this conversation. “He lied to me. He slept with me. And he stole my story. I woke up and all my notes were gone.”
Cat’s eyes flashed with fury. “I thought you were just mad about the rumors. You always hated when people gossiped about you. I just thought…. Why didn’t you say something?”
“What was I supposed to say? Oh, hi, you were all right. I’m way too young and naive to do this job. I can’t even see through some cliched flattery from the newsroom Lothario, how can I possibly be qualified to be an investigative journalist?”
“We didn’t-”
“Yes, you did,” Lois countered. “You all did. No one thought I deserved this job. You think I don’t know everyone called me Perry’s little pet?”
Cat grimaced, and Lois knew her blow had landed.
“It doesn’t matter anymore,” Lois said, and to her surprise…it really didn’t. Not the gossip. Not the doubt in her abilities. And not Claude and his meager attempts at romance, or her gullible belief in his promises.
None of that mattered anymore. It was so long ago. She was a whole different person now.
“None of this matters anymore,” she said again, less angrily this time. She waved a hand in the air, dismissing all this history. “I got my Pulitzer. And I got…” She trailed off and waved a hand at the flowers on her desk.
When she looked back over, Cat was smiling at her. Not smirking or laughing. Smiling a genuine smile.
“You set his world on fire? I can’t wait to see what the card says once you sleep with him.” She paused and looked at Lois suspiciously. “You are going to sleep with him, right? You aren’t going to torture him for years and make him wait until you’re married or something?”
Lois laughed, her cheeks warm. “I’m not going to torture him,” she said with a laugh. “I just….didn’t want it to just be one weekend to remember. I want….”
She trailed off, unsure how to finish that sentence except…. Him. She wanted him. She closed her eyes and saw the way he had looked at her that weekend; working at his kitchen table, reading a picture book to his godson on the porch swing. She wanted that. The future he had seen when he looked at her. And she wanted him to look at her like that forever.
She opened her eyes and darted a glance at Cat, who was looking at her with something that approached affection. “I want a future with him. Our future.” She brushed her fingers over a flower petal, smiling softly. “And I’m pretty sure he does too.”
Cat smiled at her, and then went back to her work, leaving Lois to gaze once again at the breathtaking card he had written her.
She stilled suddenly, her eyes narrowing as she noticed not just the words, but the handwriting. It was definitely his writing. It was unmistakable. Even if it was just coincidence and the employee at the flower shop had similar handwriting, his signature with the intertwined C and K was indisputable. She reached forward and snagged one of the postcards that still lined her cubicle wall. She flipped it over, setting the two cards side by side. Absolutely, without a doubt his handwriting.
****
Lois flipped through the mail as she kicked the front door closed behind her. Bills, junk, and more junk. She locked the door behind her and strode into the kitchen, dropping the bills on the counter and the junk mail in the trash. She opened the fridge, surveyed the pathetic contents and decided she wasn’t hungry after all.
She glanced at the clock. It was only six. Clark’s practice wouldn’t be over for another half hour. She considered turning on the television, and then decided on a bath instead.
But first…. She opened the drawer of her nightstand and pulled out the small florist card that had accompanied the flowers he sent her after her trip to Smallville in September, her eyes skimming the Byron quote and his sweet words until they landed on the entwined C and K.
Her breath caught in her chest. The birthday flowers could have been ordered weeks in advance. It was conceivable that he could have handwritten the note and mailed it to the florist shop to be delivered with the flowers. But those flowers in September…that quote….
His sweet, quiet voice echoed in her head. “She walks in beauty like the night…” He couldn’t have known a week ahead of time that he would quote that poem to her under the stars. They hadn’t even planned to go stargazing. They were supposed to be at the fireworks that night. They had changed their plans at the last minute.
Maybe the card wasn’t written as a reminder of the stargazing, she told herself. Maybe the card came first, and the quote had just popped into his head that night because it was already fresh in his mind from writing out the card.
Still, it seemed so unlikely, so unfathomable, that he would write out that quote on a card and mail it across the country rather than just dictating the message over the phone. She laughed as she placed the cards back in her nightstand. He never ceased to amaze her with his little surprises and tender words. Somehow it seemed fitting that he had managed to surprise her and baffle her yet again.
She stripped out of her work clothes while the tub filled, then slid into the warm water. She leaned her head back against the cool porcelain, a small smile playing at her lips. Maybe it wasn’t a fairy tale birthday, but between his early morning wake up call and the beautiful flowers with the breathtaking note at work, and the promise of his call tonight…she couldn’t be any happier. Unless he was here, of course.
When the water cooled, she stood and stepped out, wrapping herself in a fluffy towel.
She had just slipped into comfortable pajamas when the phone rang. She dashed for it, grinning.
“Hey!” she said eagerly.
“Hi,” he said, laughing. “That was fast.”
“I was just a few steps away…and I’ve been looking forward to this all day.”
“Me too,” he said immediately. “Did you have a good day?”
“Yeah. Work was fine. And your flowers…. Clark…you’re spoiling me. They were gorgeous. And that note…. I….” She fumbled for words, trying to find a way to tell him how touched she was by his inscription, how beautiful the flowers were, and how much his desire to make her day special meant to her.
“Oh, honey, you’re welcome. I love sending you flowers.”
“Oh, Clark,” she said, her voice soft and full of affection “How did you… When did you order them?” she asked finally.
“When did I-”
“Well, you must have pre-ordered them, right? In order to get the note here in time. It’s in your handwriting.”
There was a pause. A prolonged pause, while she waited for an answer and she heard him breathe, slow and steady.
“But I pulled out the card from the flowers you sent me last month, and that’s in your handwriting too,” she went on finally. “And that quote…. The Byron quote…. Saturday night we weren’t even planning to go stargazing. We were supposed to be at the fireworks.”
“I am a man of many mysteries,” he teased finally.
“Come on,” she said with a laugh. “You have to tell me. It’s going to drive me crazy!”
“How do you think I did it?” he asked, and she couldn’t help wondering if he was stalling for time.
“I thought…you must have ordered them ahead of time, and you weren’t planning on quoting that line to me while I was there, but it was fresh in your mind because of the card, so it popped out.”
“Mmhmm,” he said. “Maybe…”
“But that card has the shop’s logo on it. And it’s a local shop. They don’t have locations in Kansas. So…you called them and had them mail you a card so you could write the note and then you mailed it back? That doesn’t seem…. I can’t imagine why…. So, if you didn’t do that. If you ordered them after I left on Sunday night, or early on Monday morning….”
“Yes?” he said, waiting for her next theory.
“How, Clark?! Come on! What did you…send a carrier pigeon? Did you …beam it here? Did you fly in and out on a red eye?”
“You’re getting warmer,” he teased, but his voice sounded slightly strained, like maybe he wasn’t enjoying this guessing game as much as she was.
“You are doing this on purpose,” she accused gently. “You are driving me crazy, and you know it. How, Clark? Are you magic?”
“You told me there’s no such thing as magic, Lois,” he said immediately, turning her own words back on her. In her mind, she could see them outside the Metro Club, the disk in her hand, smug grin on her face. “And that a good magician never reveals his secrets.”
“Clark!” she shrieked, and he laughed at her fury.
“I’m glad you liked the flowers,” he said. He hesitated, and she waited for an explanation. “Lois…I’ll tell you how I did it later. I promise. Just let it be magic for now. But someday…I’ll tell you all my secrets.”
She was still and quiet for a moment, processing that promise.
“Okay,” she said finally, her voice low and serious. “Magic.”
“I miss you so much,” he said.
“I miss you too,” she said sweetly, all the outrage gone from her voice. “That weekend was so amazing, Clark. It was…so much more than I expected.”
“I know,” he said. “Me too. It was perfect.”
“Start thinking about what you want to do while you’re here next month. I’ll get us reservations or tickets or whatever.”
“I just want to spend time with you,” he said. “I don’t care what we do.”
“Clark…” she said, her voice sweet and quiet.
“There is one thing,” he said suddenly.
“Name it,” she said.
“I want you to go out with me.”
She paused, trying to understand. “Out?” she said.
“Yes,” he said with a chuckle. “Like…on a date?”
She laughed, understanding now what he was asking.
“A date? You mean a real date?” she teased. “Like where I take out my best perfume, the one I bought after seeing 'Love Affair' – the good one not the remake – and put a dab behind my knee, even though I have no idea why?”
“Yeah,” he said, laughing. “We skipped right from friends to…this. And I’m not complaining, trust me. I’m so, so thrilled with this. But we skipped over our first date. I want to take you out. I want to get dressed up and bring you flowers. I thought we could do that one night? Maybe Friday? I could take you somewhere nice? We can have a little belated birthday celebration?”
“I’d love that,” she said. “But we don’t have to do anything big for my birthday. I’ve never really-”
“Lois, if you think I’m going to ignore your birthday, you are delusional.”
She giggled. “Clark. That’s not… I’m just saying, you don’t have to-”
“I don’t have to do anything,” he countered. “I’m really excited about taking you out for your birthday. Just let me enjoy this.”
“Well, all right,” she teased. “If it makes you happy.”
“Good,” he said softly. “I thought about you all day. I couldn’t wait to get home and call you. I…have a little surprise for you.”
She raised her eyebrows, curious about not just the surprise, but the hint of nerves in his voice as well. “Oh?” she prompted.
“What I really want, more than anything, is to be there with you tonight,” he said, his voice low and sweet. “But if I can’t do that….”
She waited impatiently as he trailed off. He was quiet for a few seconds, and then finally he laughed and continued. “Go open your door.”
“What?” she said, confused.
He laughed again. “Put the phone down, and go open your front door.”
“Okay,” she said skeptically. She sat the phone down on her nightstand and walked quickly down the hall and through her living room. She flipped the locks, opened the door, and blinked in confusion for just a second. Then she looked down.
On the floor in front of her door was a stack of bamboo baskets. She recognized them immediately as the same containers of Chinese takeout Clark had bought for them on their final night of his first visit. She laughed a short, surprised laugh.
She had scoured the city for this restaurant. She had tried and failed to locate it over the summer, and had asked him about it almost immediately after he got back from his travels. But he had told her he couldn’t remember the name of it, just that it was near his hotel. Over the course of the last three months, she had ordered from every Asian restaurant within a two mile radius of the hotel, and nothing had even come close.
She had even, in a final fit of desperation, called the hotel and explained that a friend had stayed there a few months back and had visited a Chinese restaurant recommended by someone at the front desk. She had been so excited when the man who answered the phone provided her with a name and phone number, telling her he had been recommending the restaurant to satisfied guests for years.
But when the food arrived in standard cardboard boxes and plastic containers, she knew it wasn’t the same place. The food was good – much better than most of the places she had tried during her quest – but it didn’t compare to Clark’s.
She reached for the stack of baskets and realized there was a bottle of wine, a small white bakery box, and a brightly colored gift bag as well. She hadn’t noticed them immediately in all her excitement over the food.
She ferried the treasures to the coffee table quickly, laughing in surprise and bewilderment. Then she closed and locked her front door and hurried back to the living room, picking the phone up from the cradle.
“Clark!” she said, and his laughter filled her with joy. “How did you? What is all this? Oh my god. Let me go hang up in the bedroom. I’ll be right back!”
She put the phone down on the end table, not bothering to wait for his response, and ran to the bedroom, hanging up the phone still resting on her nightstand. Then she hurried back to the living room, where she sat on the couch and put the phone to her ear.
“How did you do this?” she asked again. “You said you couldn’t remember the name of the restaurant! I’ve been looking for months!”
“I got you everything we ate when I visited plus a new noodle dish that sounded amazing. I hope you’re hungry,” he said.
“I’m starving,” she admitted, opening to the top basket and snagging a dumpling. She popped it into her mouth and then moaned in appreciation. “Oh, mmmm. It’s just as good as I remember.”
“Good,” he said, and she could hear how pleased he was with her reaction. “There’s more. Did you see the other things?”
“Yes!” she said. “I brought them in but I haven’t opened them.”
“Open the box first,” he said.
She slipped the ribbon off the paper box, sliding it over a label with the name of the bakery and a tagline all in French. She lifted the lid, revealing two large, fancy cupcakes, one with chocolate frosting and one with pink frosting and a sliced strawberry garnish. “Oh, Clark,” she said again, at a loss for words.
“It’s not a birthday without cake,” he said. “The pink one is strawberry rhubarb. I can’t promise you it will live up to my mom’s pie, but I thought it was worth a shot. And the other is Death By Chocolate – chocolate cake with a chocolate ganache filling, topped with chocolate buttercream frosting, a chocolate fudge drizzle and chocolate shavings.”
“Oh my god,” she said, laughing. “You are incredible. Thank you. This is…. I don’t even know what to say.”
“Say you’re having a happy birthday,” he said hopefully.
“I am… This is the best birthday I’ve had in…:”
Forever, she thought. Her best birthday ever.
“I’m so glad,” he said, and she could hear the sincerity in his voice, the way he cared so much about her happiness.
“Clark,” she said, her heart in her throat, desperate to say more about how he made her feel, how special he was.
“Open the bag,” he prompted finally, letting her off the hook. “This isn’t your real present. It’s just a little…. Well, you’ll see.”
She peeked into the gift bag, pushing aside the tissue paper, and saw the unmistakable shape of a VHS tape. She smiled, realizing immediately that this was meant to be the birthday movie she mentioned that morning.
She paused, hand still in the bag, wondering suddenly how he had arranged this. The food could have been ordered days ago. And he must have hired a courier to deliver the gifts. But she hadn’t mentioned the movie until he was on his way out the door to work. When would he have had time to arrange for that? Unless it was a coincidence, maybe? Or he just knew her well enough to predict that she would want to watch a movie? Still, that didn’t explain the mystery of the florist cards….
She pulled the tape from the bag, flipping it around so she could see the cover.
“Oh, I love this movie!” she exclaimed automatically.
“I know,” he said with a laugh, and she remembered suddenly weeks ago when she had spent thirty minutes describing the plot of The American President to him after learning he hadn’t seen it.
“It’s so good,” she insisted, laughing too. “You don’t know what you’re missing.”
“I rented a copy for myself,” he said softly. “I thought we could watch it together tonight. If you want. On the phone. I know it’s not the same, but it’s as close-“
“Oh, Clark,” she said, interrupting him, tears welling in her eyes. “Yes. Oh, please yes. Thank you. That’s…. Oh, I-“
She stopped abruptly, the words caught in her throat. This man. He was so incredible. How did he know exactly how to make her happy?
“Get yourself all settled,” he said. “Tell me when you are ready, and we’ll start it at the same time.”
She put the phone down for just a minute, scurrying to the kitchen to gather the necessary supplies, then carried the corkscrew back into the living room along with a plate, fork, wine glass, and napkin.
“Tell me about your day while I get settled,” she said, grabbing the bottle of wine.
“There’s not much to tell,” he said. “Classes were fine. My sophomores are reading The Crucible, and–”
“Oh, I love The Crucible! I went through a whole obsessive phase in high school about The Salem Witch Trials.”
“Why does that not surprise me?” he asked with a chuckle.
“So, how are they liking it?” she asked as she twisted the corkscrew.
“They seem really into it. Elise went on a tirade about the patriarchy and how it was responsible for the persecution of women then, and how it’s still responsible for so many problems today.”
“Elise?” Lois asked, laughing. “She’s so…bubbly and perky. Who would have guessed?”
“That’s Sarah’s influence, I’m sure,” Clark said.
“Oh, do they stay in touch?” Lois asked, smiling at the mention of Sarah, who would always be her favorite among Clark’s students.
Clark paused for a minute and then started to laugh.
“What?” she asked.
“Sarah and Elise are sisters,” he said finally. “I don’t know why I assumed you knew that.”
“Sarah and Elise are sisters?” she repeated, shocked. “Yeah….I definitely missed that.”
Lois finished pouring her wine and sat the bottle down on the coffee table, replacing the cork. Then she tilted her head, examining the label. “Clark? Is this the wine we had at your parents’ house?”
“Yeah,” he said. “You seemed to like it.”
She hesitated. “I did like it,” she said. “But your mom said it was something you brought back from your travels. How did you…?”
The silence stretched between them; not uncomfortable exactly, just significant.
She looked from the wine in her hand to the stack of bamboo containers to the cupcakes from a French patisserie she had never heard of to the box of the movie.
“Clark,” she said again. “How did you manage all this? I looked everywhere for this restaurant. And this wine isn’t available anywhere around here. And I didn’t mention wanting to watch a movie until this morning when you were on your way to work. How did you do this?”
“Magic?” Clark said softly, and the butterflies in her stomach went wild.
“Clark,” she said, her heart galloping in her chest. He was magic. He was the most magical person she had ever met. Not just because he brought her inexplicable presents, but because of the things he made her feel, the way he made her heart leap when she had thought for so long that it was cold and hard and broken beyond repair.
“Just enjoy it, Lois. I’ll tell you all my secrets eventually. For now, just let me spoil you. It makes me happy to make you happy.
“I do feel spoiled,” she confessed. “You make me so happy. It’s not just….the gifts. It’s…how did you know all the things that would make me happiest? How did you know exactly how to make this day so special?”
“Oh, honey, I-” he broke off, taking a deep breath.
Her heart fluttered, filling in the unspoken end to that sentence on her own. He knew because he listened. Because he cared. Because he loved her.
“Thank you,” she said softly. “For all of this. For calling me this morning before work. For the flowers. For that poem. For…all of this. For spending tonight with me even if we’re a thousand miles apart. Thank you, Clark.”
He was quiet for a moment, and she heard him breathing slowly. “You’re so welcome,” he said finally.
She ached for him then with a ferociousness that came out of nowhere. She needed him – the feel of his arms around her, his hands in her hair, his body against hers.
“I miss you,” she said, the words out before she could stop them. Her voice breathless with longing.
“I miss you too,” he whispered. “So much. I can’t wait to touch you. To kiss you.”
She whimpered, the small pitiful sound escaping her throat unbidden.
“Six more days,” he whispered.
“Six more days,” she agreed.
“You want to watch your movie?” he asked gently. “I’m ready whenever you are. Just get it all set up and we can hit play at the same time.”
“Okay,” she said, reaching for the movie and unwrapping the plastic. She extracted it from the box and slid it into the VCR, turning on her television.
“I’m going to start it on three,” Lois said. “You know, like: one, two, go.”
“Okay,” Clark agreed. “I’m ready.”
She took a little breath. “One- I’m not going to actually say three,” she said, breaking off her countdown.
“Lois!” Clark said, laughing and exasperated at the same time.
She laughed. “Okay, okay. One. Two. Three!” She pushed the play button and watched as the screen flickered to life.
She scooped a generous portion from each of the baskets onto her plate, then she curled up in the corner of the sofa.
“You’re going to love this movie,” she promised, eliciting an affectionate chuckle.
“Lois,” he said, his voice warm and intimate. “I have no doubt that this will be one of my favorite movie nights of all time.”
