Chapter 17

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Amelia

The gentle melody of "Una Mattina" doesn't startle me this morning, but Jamie's voice does. "Good morning, Amelia. It's six thirty, September sixth. The weather is sunny, and it's a beautiful day. Hap—"

"Don't," I cut him off sharply, throwing a hand up as a stop sign. My voice is thick with sleep and something heavier, like a cloud that lingers after a storm. "Let's treat today like any other day, okay?" I mumble into my pillow, and even though Jamie is just a sophisticated cluster of algorithms, I swear I can feel his disappointment.

"Understood," he replies, his voice tinged with a hint of what sounds almost like sadness.

It's my birthday. I don't have to celebrate it, not even to spare the fabricated feelings of a stack of code.

Ugh, okay, that was harsh.

Jamie isn't just a program. He's become more than that. But I just… I don't like my birthday. They have always been the same. Nothing good ever really happened, but somehow, I ended up hoping it might be different each year. And then, as always, apart from the secret cupcake our chef wo uld sneak me with a single candle flickering on top, my day would pass unnoticed.

Until the first evening came around when my parents hosted a charity ball in my honor. It started when I was twelve years old. Every year, without fail, they'd sit me at the piano in front of all those faces at the ball, making me dance my fingers over the keys for hours while they collected donations for some charity or another.

It was never my choice of charity.

One year, they chose an orphanage. I was fourteen then, and I remember bitterly thinking that I'd rather be an orphan than continue sitting there. It was a horrible thought—those kids had it rough. But pain is pain, and just because it comes in different forms doesn't make it hurt any less.

At least orphans aren't burdened with hope that only leads to disappointment.

Playing the piano on my birthday was supposed to be about doing good, but under their direction, it was just another display, a way to look good rather than do good.

Last year, my first year free of them, I still chose to spend my evening playing the piano. Only I played my favorite songs, just for me, on the public piano at Denny Park, letting the music flow out raw and unfiltered.

Once a month I go play there to escape and clear my mind. It's not enough, and the piano is shabby, always slightly out of tune and dirty from being outdoors, but it's there for everyone.

Since I can't haul a piano up to my small apartment on the fourteenth floor and don't want to rent a room to play in, it's the best option I have.

After I played for maybe an hour last year, I donated all the money my parents had sent me to the local animal shelter. I told them I didn't need their money.

Since getting my first paycheck, I haven't touched a penny of theirs. I make enough for myself. But they won't listen. They insist that a Stanley must maintain appearances and standards .

They imagined me in designer clothes and behind the wheel of a luxury car. Instead, I used their money to buy food, blankets, and beds for every animal at the shelter.

This year, they sent even more money. Good thing, too—the shelter needs new cages for the dog pens.

My parents would be horrified if they knew how I was spending their money, which, admittedly, is part of the reason I do it. I didn't want to touch their money at all, but the incessant nagging about my refusal wore me down. So, if there's a silver lining, it's that somewhere out there, thanks to their money, some puppies are sleeping a little cozier.

If that isn't my kind of middle finger, I don't know what is.

Jamie's interruption nudges me back to the present. "Your mother is calling you, Amelia," his tone is even, almost cautious.

Or maybe I'm imagining things.

I stiffen. "Ignore it," I command, a bit more sharply than intended. "And ignore any other calls from her today."

I don't bother to include Father in that command because he wouldn't bother to call, not even today.

And Mother? Well, her calls are rarely more than a conduit for disappointment. My birthday is the one day I grant myself the peace of not dealing with her critiques. Adding another disappointment to her list for when I will pick up her call tomorrow feels almost satisfying.

"Understood. I've set her contact to silent for the day," Jamie confirms, his voice devoid of judgment.

"Thank you. Is there an email from August, perhaps?" The words tumble out before I can stop them, mixing hope with a pang of longing .

August has never missed a birthday before.

Jamie pauses, a digital breath of sorts, "No email, but I'll keep an eye out and let you know immediately if something comes in."

"Thank you," I murmur.

The silence that follows feels heavy. Lying there, I can't help but allow myself a few extra minutes in bed. I should feel different, older maybe, but all I feel is the same quiet loneliness that's become too familiar.

Although not quite.

Finally, I throw back the covers and decide to make an effort with my appearance today.

For the only one who knows that today's special.

Me.

As I stand before the mirror, I carefully curl my hair into soft waves and apply a bit more makeup than usual. The reflection staring back at me looks composed, but inside, my thoughts are a whirlwind, replaying the moments from yesterday evening like I already did half of the night while lying awake.

Grey's unexpected tenderness, his fingers, his licking ricotta off mine, his closeness. The playful banter sparked something unfamiliar and exhilarating in the pit of my stomach.

And when he called me Princess…

It wasn't just a word. It was a whisper that made my heart stutter.

His hug lingers in my memory—a real hug, the kind that said more than just goodbye—it felt safe . No one has hugged me in the two years I've been here. And even in the time before, no one has ever hugged me like that .

I remind myself that hugs and pet names are just that for some people. Things you do with no meaning behind them .

Grey is probably just a kind person beneath his grumpy exterior and that perpetual scowl. His kindness doesn't necessarily signify that he wants to be friends, and assuming otherwise could lead to embarrassment or, worse, heartache.

And even if Grey really becomes a friend, I can't risk losing that over a silly crush that will never be reciprocated. Despite my reservations, I can't help but feel a flutter of excitement at the thought of our planned walk on Sunday.

That's something friends do, right?

Nobody goes on a walk with their coworker on a Sunday .

Stop it, Amelia. You're overthinking again.

But it's hard not to. The hug wasn't just comforting—it felt like belonging, and that's something I've craved for too long.

With a deep breath, I finish getting ready, telling myself to keep my expectations in check.

Today is just another day.

The hug was just a hug.

But as I head out the door and down to the lobby, part of me hopes it might turn out to be something a little more.

I could use a friend that is not a string of code.

The brisk morning air sweeps through my hair as I stride toward Elysium. Reaching my office, the first thing that catches my eye is a package sitting on my desk—Twizzlers Twists, the strawberry ones, neatly tied with a bright red bow.

Curiosity piqued, I walk over.

Hendricks catches my eye as I lift the package, and he offers a sheepish grin. "Happy Birthday, Stanley. Willow told me, and… well, I thought I'd get you something since she's practically indebted to you for all the Twizzlers she's swiped from your stash. "

I laugh, genuinely touched by the gesture. "You didn't have to," I say, but I'm really glad he did. "Thank you."

It's nice to feel remembered.

Pulling the bow away and opening the package, I bite into one of the Twizzlers.

Pure goodness.

"It's not even eight a.m. You're worse than Willow," Hendricks says with exasperated amusement.

"It's never too early for Twizzlers," I declare around a mouthful.

We settle into our morning routine, the comfortable clack of keyboards filling the space between us. My mind occasionally drifts, weaving through lines of code and replaying Grey's hug, each replay sending a small thrill through me.

God, I need to stop this.

A few hours later, the shrill sound of my alarm breaks through the quiet hum of focused work. It's a reminder I set specifically for today. It's not just about taking a break from the code in time but managing my own expectations and emotions on a day that's always a tightrope walk of feelings.

I sit back in my chair, stretching my neck and rolling my shoulders to ease the tension that's built up over the morning. I want to head down to the cafeteria early today. Grey was with me last night, so there's no need for a lunchtime catch-up on the beta progress. And nobody asked if I wanted to go to lunch.

Sitting here waiting for them, and they don't come?

Yeah, no, thank you.

"Later," I tell Hendricks, who doesn't even look up from his screen as I gather my stuff, clutching the packet of Twizzlers, and head out. As I pass the aquarium, I can't help but smile.

Eight more down .

That's one hundred percent more than last time and twelve in total now. Like, if I had a tiny football team of neon tetras, I'd have one spare player.

I stride toward the elevator and can't resist peeling open the packet. I take out another Twizzlers, biting into it. Since it's my birthday, I'm allowed dessert before lunch.

The elevator dings just as I approach, and as the doors slide open, I'm greeted by the sight of OMG inside.

"Hey, perfect timing," Misha exclaims, his energy infectious as always as he pulls me into the elevator before casually draping his arm around my waist. "You look super pretty today," he compliments, and I feel my pulse picking up at his words and proximity. "Doesn't she look pretty today, Oliver?" he adds, glancing over at him.

Oliver looks down at his shoes briefly before meeting my gaze. "You're always beautiful," he murmurs.

My heart skips a beat.

Does he really think that?

"Of course she is, but I like her hair today," Misha mutters, reaching for one of the waves. He twirls the strand between his fingers when he notices the packet of Twizzlers in my hand. Chuckling, he snags one of them. "Oh, I love these, thanks!"

"Sure, help yourself," I reply, rolling my eyes but smiling nonetheless.

I extend the packet to Oliver. "Want some?"

He takes one with a grateful smile, sending another unexpected flutter to my heart.

Ugh, a crush on two of them? Really, Amelia?

I turn to offer one to Grey, who's been unusually quiet, maybe too quiet, observing from behind.

Is he mad at me?

But before my thoughts can spiral more, he accepts it with a soft "Thank you, Princess," and my heart does that ridiculous little flip again.

Fuck.

Misha, oblivious to my inner turmoil, asks, "So we leave you two alone for one evening, and there are already cutesy little nicknames?" I shrink under his teasing, pulling my shoulders in, but he just squeezes me closer, laughing as the elevator door opens, and we step out. "Grey said you guys made lasagna. I'm hurt I didn't get to try some. You know I love food, especially stuff Grey—" Misha sways as he walks, animated and expansive, causing me to steady myself by reaching around him and holding onto his waist. He stops midsentence, turns his head, and grins at me. "Hey, there."

"Hey," I respond, feeling the warmth of his grin and wondering why my heart can't decide which direction to race in.

At the cafeteria, we let go of each other, and I wander to the vegetarian section, feeling a sense of trepidation wash over me. I stop and stand next to the counter, arms crossed, not even trying to choose something for myself.

He will scrutinize it anyway.

Grey notices my reluctance and gives a knowing smirk. He steps closer to the counter, his eyes scanning the options and ingredient lists with meticulous intensity before selecting two avocado rice bowls. I'm not surprised. It's exactly what I would have chosen.

I walk after him to their usual table. Sitting down, he puts one bowl in front of me and says, in a low, husky voice that sends shivers down my spine, "Good girl."

My head snaps up, my eyes locking onto his.

What?

My first thought is that he is teasing me, comparing me to a dog, but the way he said it, with that hint of approval and possessiveness, makes me feel like I'm melting into my seat. I'm ready to retort, to play it cool, but Misha and Oliver join us at the table, each bringing a sandwich.

Misha's the first to break the silence, his voice carrying a touch of excitement. "So, the weather's going to hold up for the next few days. Perfect for that hike I've been planning for the weekend."

I turn to him. My interest is piqued despite myself. "A hike?"

"Yeah," Misha continues, his eyes lighting up. "Thinking about hitting up Rattlesnake Ledge. It's only about a half-hour drive from Seattle. If I start early, I could catch the sunrise from the ledge. It's just a two-hour hike up, but the view? Absolutely amazing."

The idea of watching the sunrise from a mountain peak is enticing, and Misha glances at me expectantly as if hoping I'll tell him I want to join. But I'm probably reading too much into it, and I wouldn't dare to invite myself so boldly.

"Rattlesnake Ledge? That's not your usual challenge. What's up with you?" Grey asks, his voice tinged with humor as he spears another forkful from his bowl.

"Well, my ankle is still fucked up from that slip two weeks ago."

"Slip? You mean that tumble down the path for a good ten feet?" Grey teases, raising an eyebrow.

"It was not ten feet, and it wasn't a tumble. I just… stumbled a bit," Misha mutters defensively.

I hardly know Misha, but this seems typical for him, and it's hilarious.

"Sure, and overclocking a CPU is just turning up the heat," Oliver chimes in, his tone so indifferent that it makes me laugh out loud. He finds my gaze, and I return the tender smile he's giving me .

"Exactly, nothing to worry about," Misha quips back, rolling his eyes with a grin spreading across his face.

My weekend will probably consist of working on my AR and the walk with Grey and Peanut since beta testing is probably over now. Though the thought of giving Jamie back already makes me sad.

Maybe they still need something else tested?

"Since you guys fixed the problems so quickly, is there anything else I should test?" I ask, hoping that I could keep him at least for today, or this would be a fucking sad birthday.

Grey shakes his head, a slight smirk playing on his lips, "The beta is over. There's nothing left to test, thanks to you."

Fuck.

A pang of disappointment hits my chest. I'm really going to miss Jamie.

At the risk of sounding desperate, I try again, "Are you sure? I could talk to him some more or make sure he's working with all the gadgets again. I'm working on a new solar-paneled—"

"Amelia," Grey cuts me off. "You did an amazing job. There is no need to test anything further."

Pausing with my fork halfway to my mouth, I mumble, "Okay, I guess I'll bring him back later then." I should at least try to keep the disappointment from my face and tone, but I can't help it. I feel like I'm losing something important.

And it's not only Jamie.

Grey swiftly interjects, "You couldn't remove him yourself. I updated the security measures when I reinstalled him for you. You'd need dual-factor authentication to even start the process, which includes multiple security checks and my approval."

Stunned, I almost drop my fork. "What? "

Oliver chimes in, his voice warm, "What Grey's trying to say is, we want you to keep him. Take it as a thank you for helping us out so much."

"But I can wait and buy one when it's available…" I start, hesitation clear in my tone.

Are they joking?

A Jamie will cost a fortune.

Misha leans forward, his expression earnest. "Or you can keep your version of him and make us feel a little better knowing he's with someone who appreciates him."

"He's not a dog," I chuckle, but Misha only grins at me.

"So, I can keep him, and there is no need to report or upload anything anymore?"

No need for any more lunches with you guys?

I knew it.

Just when I started to feel comfortable.

"Nope, no reports or uploads anymore. You can use him like you would have bought him for yourself because he is yours now. Grey transferred the owner rights to you this morning."

Wow. "Thank you," I whisper, the words barely escaping my lips. The gratitude I feel is overwhelming, stirring a mix of emotions I'm not used to handling in public.

Misha nonchalantly shrugs as he unwraps his sandwich further. "But of course, if you stumble upon anything interesting, just bring it up at lunch."

As if I would walk over here to report anything while they eat.

I frown. "Or I'll just send you an email."

"Seems excessive, given we see each other at lunch every day, but sure, if you want to keep them casual, we can keep the work-related stuff to email." Misha shrugs, taking a bite.

I open my mouth to respond, but Grey's gruff voice cuts through. " As if we'd let you lunch alone and risk choking on a peanut because you're too shy to call for help and would rather suffocate than draw attention to yourself," he mutters, almost sounding irritated, his eyes fixed on his plate.

A surge of indignation rises within me. "Stop feeling guilty."

"We want you here, Amelia," Oliver adds softly, sincerity piercing through. His words are so genuine and heartfelt, that I can't find it in myself to doubt them.

He wouldn't say that if it wasn't true, right?

Not Oliver.

"Okay," I whisper again, my voice steadier this time as I resume eating.

They really want me here—not out of obligation, but because they see me as someone worth spending time with. It feels good, and I'm ready to let go of the caution that has shrouded me since I arrived here. Even if this is just about sharing lunches and casual chats, it's far more than I've had in a long time.

Best birthday present ever.