The fla flickered.
Declan Hawthorne hurriedly shielded it with his hand to prevent the candle from going out.
Florence Lynch pouted, unable to blow out the candle’s fla for quite so ti.
Declan Hawthorne quietly assisted her.
The candle went out, and Declan turned on the light.
"How did you know it’s Uncle’s birthday?"
"Because today isn’t my mom’s, grandma’s, or my birthday, so it must be Uncle Hawthorne’s birthday."
The cake was only four inches.
Florence held the plate, hesitating to cut into it.
Poppy Hale heard so noise outside, with dishes clattering in the kitchen, thinking Florence might be up to sothing.
She quickly ca out to take a look.
She saw Declan Hawthorne sitting there, watching Florence intently, with a small cake between them.
Isn’t he celebrating his birthday with the Hawthorne Family?
That cake didn’t seem like sothing a family like the Hawthorne Family would buy.
Probably picked up on the way ho, brought for Florence.
Seeing Poppy Hale, Florence quickly jumped down.
"Mom, can you help cut the cake?"
She wanted the little dog, but it was in the middle.
Digging into the middle of the cake and leaving the rest would be impolite.
Thus her hesitation for so long.
Poppy Hale stepped forward, carefully cutting out the little dog with a knife and placing it on Florence’s small plate, then handed the knife to Declan Hawthorne.
"You do the honors."
Declan pressed his lips together.
He divided the cake into three pieces.
"Florence, share it with Grandma and Mom."
"Isn’t Uncle going to have so?"
Declan gently patted Florence’s soft hair.
"Uncle doesn’t have a sweet tooth."
"But this is your birthday cake. Did you buy it yourself?"
Declan softly shook his head, "My sister bought it, and at ho, I’m not allowed to eat cake."
Florence looked up while eating the cake and exclaid.
"Uncle Hawthorne, you’re so pitiful."
Declan cracked a smile.
As the eldest grandson of the Hawthorne family, his lifestyle had always been above average.
The resources he enjoyed were unmatched by the common man.
But here was this little child, calling him pitiful.
Only Florence would say he was pitiful.
Florence picked up a fork from the side, taking a small piece of cake from the untouched side and offered it to Declan Hawthorne.
He opened his mouth and ate it.
"Delicious."
The filling had chocolate sauce, balancing the sweetness of the jam and the richness of the cream, dissolving richly between Declan’s lips and teeth.
Poppy Hale placed her piece of cake in front of him.
"I don’t do chocolate."
He rembered the last ti in his office when she had an allergic reaction to high-concentration chocolate.
He wasn’t aware that the cake was chocolate-filled until it was cut open.
After finishing the cake with Florence, they kept a piece for Truth Hale in the fridge.
The man stood up to take his leave.
Florence tugged at Declan’s sleeve.
"Uncle Hawthorne, can you tell a story before you go?"
"Of course."
Declan picked Florence up and headed to the bedroom.
Poppy Hale turned on the tap, washing the plates used by Declan and Florence to eat the cake.
There was a dishwasher, but for just two plates, it seed too tedious to use it.
Picking up the plate Declan had used.
On it, with a fork, was a scrawled chocolate sauce sketch, spelling out the character "飘" artistically.
Declan Hawthorne’s handwriting was robust and vigorous.
Even written with chocolate sauce on a plate, the writing, like him, exuded exuberance.
Poppy Hale stared at it for a mont, watching the sauce wash away under the water.
Returning to the room, Declan was already gone.
Florence had fallen asleep, hugging a tiny panda toy.
Poppy Hale was originally rushing to et a deadline, but at this mont, she found herself sowhat interested.
But once she lay down, she couldn’t sleep.
She recalled the first ti she celebrated Declan’s birthday.
The story was quite absurd.
She had ordered a cake, but the store sohow forgot her order, so when it arrived, much ti had passed.
Declan was surprised when he saw the cake.
Pinching her cheek, he asked, "How did you know today was my birthday?"
Back then, Poppy felt very proud, replying animatedly, "You’re my boyfriend, how could I not know your birthday! I saw it on your ID card!"
Unexpectedly, before she could revel in her pride for long, Declan hugged her and said, "Today isn’t my birthday."
"The date on the ID is incorrect, it’s actually tomorrow."
Poppy was both dejected and embarrassed, staring blankly at Declan.
"What should we do then?"
"We’ll wait until tomorrow."
It was already late, and leaving the cake on the hotel’s coffee table till the next day wasn’t out of the question.
"But there are still several hours until tomorrow."
Declan’s hand slipped around Poppy’s waist, pulling her closer.
A kiss descended from above.
It wasn’t their first, but beyond that, things gradually got out of hand, neither could stop.
Clothes lay scattered everywhere, leaving Poppy feeling light-headed and weak all over.
Wrapped under the blanket, Declan put his clothes back on while looking at her.
"Wait for a bit. There’s nothing suitable here, I’ll go buy so and be right back."
What he was going to buy went without saying.
Poppy buried her face in the blanket, her face bright red.
Without hesitation, Declan pinched her neck to save her from her blanket prison.
"If you’re not up for it, you’re free to leave."
With that, he left the hotel.
The hotel policy at the ti was one room card per room.
Declan took it, plunging the room into darkness.
In the dark, Poppy listened to her pounding heartbeat.
After so thought.
She still tugged the blanket over her face.
When the hotel lights ca on again, Declan saw, in one glance, the restless silhouette under the blanket.
He strode forward, pulling back the blanket, looking at Poppy’s thoroughly flushed face.
The cake on the coffee table slled cloyingly sweet.
The plastic bag Declan brought back emitted a sweet aroma as well.
Poppy never knew, Declan didn’t eat cake.
Because that day the cake ended up sared all over her.
All devoured by him.
She herself barely got a few bites.
Every ti they celebrated his birthday since, the cake t the sa fate.
Each year Poppy brought the cake, leaving Declan unaware that she had always been allergic to chocolate.
That day.
Declan used the cake’s cream, to write on her body.
The character written most frequently was "飘".
Continually calling her na, insisting she repeat his, over and over until Poppy’s energy was all sapped.
She thought amid tides of emotions and tears.
She would never forget Declan’s birthday again.
Their first ti together was nothing but absurdity and wild abandonnt.
The more Poppy recalled, the hotter her face felt.
The phone screen lit up.
She picked it up absentmindedly, glancing at it.
Inside, Declan Hawthorne had sent a ssage.
"The birthday cake from before was tastier than today’s."
Poppy looked at the phone in shock, tossing it aside.
Burying her head in the pillow.
Her ears were burning hot.
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