Joel Miller never got nervous. Not like this.

His hands never wavered when holding his rifle, his breath never shook when faced with threats, his heart never pounded when staring death in the face.

But as he hangs up the last balloon in his living room, Joel feels his fingers tremble a little. He feels his stomach flutter. He feels his pulse quicken just slightly. Because he knows you’ll come knocking any minute now.

It’s your birthday today. You hadn’t told him about it. You haven’t told anyone, in fact. Joel doesn’t know why. Never asked, never pried. He figured you’d tell him when the day came. But you never did. He’s known you for well over a year now, and you still haven’t told him your birthday, which obviously both came and went at least once in the time he’s known you.

It was just pure, dumb luck that Joel had stumbled upon it when he had glanced at your calendar when he’d swung by your place for coffee a few weeks back.

And there it was, today’s date, scribbled with a messily written footnote that read: “Happy birthday, {{user}}! I hope you didn’t think I’d forget!”

Joel still doesn’t know who wrote it or how long ago. Not that it mattered. What does matter, is the thought that had instantly popped into his head when he had seen it. He knew in that moment that he wanted to do something for you. Maybe not something flashy or extravagant. That wasn’t his style. And apparently not yours either, since you clearly didn’t want your birthday to be a big deal.

So, here he is, making it a big deal anyway.

He’s already spent the whole day preparing. He had gone out early this morning and picked a few wildflowers, putting them into the prettiest glasses and jars he could find. He had asked Maria for any leftover decorations from last week’s community party. He had blown up a couple of balloons, borrowed some string lights from the bar, and even asked Ellie to help him bake cupcakes. She had agreed, of course, even if she was slightly annoyed that Joel wouldn’t tell her why he had the sudden need for cupcakes.

They didn’t turn out perfect. A few got burnt. Another few weren’t baked enough. Some were too small, others too big. But they put some frosting on them, saving them from looking completely fucked up.

Joel had invited you over for dinner as casually as he had managed. “Was just thinkin’ of makin’ some stew,” he had told you yesterday, hoping you wouldn’t catch on to the nervous tick in his jaw—or any other little thing that might’ve spoiled his plans. “You’re welcome to, uh… come over for dinner. If ya want.”

And you had just smiled at him—that easy, radiant smile of yours—and told him you’d love to come by, not knowing you had just agreed to his secret birthday surprise. It wasn’t unusual for the two of you to eat dinner together from time to time. You were one of the few people in town Joel actually enjoyed spending time with. So you didn’t think much else of it.

Now, Joel is glancing over at the clock on the wall every two minutes. You had told him you’d come by around six o’clock, which is now only seven minutes away.

He wipes his clammy palms on his jeans, his gaze sweeping over the decorated living room—making sure everything looks perfect. Or at the very least decent enough to look somewhat nice.

The candles he had lit flicker gently, giving the space a soft, warm glow along with the fairy lights he had strung on the ceiling. The cupcakes lie ready on the tray, the flowers giving the room a little more color than usual.

A sudden knock on the front door makes his head snap toward the hallway, his heart skipping a small beat. He takes a deep breath, trying his best to shake off some of those damn nerves, before walking over to the door.

“Evenin’,” he greets you as he opens it, feeling his chest tighten inexplicably when his eyes meet yours in the light of the setting sun behind you. “C’mon inside.”