”How did you know? Surprise brightened Lauren’s cheeks.

”That it was your birthday? Wasn’t really sure, given all the fake IDs we’ve had to go through…so I guessed,” she laughed. ”And even if it really isn’t today, aren’t birthdays nice?”

Bo didn’t understand what was playing out before her and yet she sensed their intimacy, not only unprecedented but mysterious. This was impossible, implausible on several levels and Bo reached for the mattress beneath her as she felt her equilibrium slipping. Their exchange continued.

”Yes, Mouse, birthdays are nice.” Lauren pressed her lips together and smiled, inhaling deeply, and focused on the ground instead of the gift she held in her hand.

”The thing about presents, Lo, they can’t open themselves.” Kenzi touched Lauren’s elbow and urged her on. Bo was at the breaking point now, hearing them call each other nicknames, being so openly affectionate with one another. Alive! Wherever they were, she wanted to be there, too, now.

Lauren rustled through the tissue sprouting from the bag, and thrilled at the sight of Kenzi’s gift. ”Here,” she said, handing the scarf to Kenzi, ”you should put it on me.”

Kenzi draped the delicate material around her friend’s shoulders and stepped back admiring her own handiwork, fussing at the folds a little, in search of perfection. Bo’s heart ached at the sight of Lauren’s smile, the downward cast of her eyes as she smoothed her fingertips over the fabric, a faint blush on her cheek rising.

”This isn’t like an engagement scarf or anything like that, so don’t get your hopes up.” Like Lauren, Kenzi also seemed to avoid direct eye contact.

”You’ll always be the one that got away,” Lauren tilted her head and let out a dramatic sigh. ”But hey, it’s my birthday,” she smoothed a hand over Kenzi’s arm. ”How about I buy us a celebratory cocktail?”

At this, Kenzi’s shyness disappeared. ”In how many languages can you sing Happy Birthday anyway?”

”Including Swahili? Maybe six or seven.”

”Swahili, huh.” Kenzi looped her hand into the crook of Lauren’s elbow and they turned not only away from the shop but also from Bo, the heels of their shoes clicking merrily down the narrow street paved in stones. A light breeze brushed against Bo’s cheeks as she watched them pull away. She licked her lips at the sudden taste of salt, which could equally have been the fault of the sea or from the stream of her own tears.