Medora
"Happy birthday," Clyde murmured, gently shaking me awake.
I groaned, rolling over to bury my face in the pillow. "Baby, why are you up so early? It’s not even light out."
"C'mon, it's your birthday," he said, pulling at my arm. "Get up. I want to take you out."
Turning over slowly, I blinked up at him. His handsome face, framed by tousled blonde hair, was lit with excitement. I couldn’t help but smile. "I’ve hated my birthday ever since I turned thirty," I confessed, rubbing the sleep from my eyes.
His brows furrowed. "Why?"
"Because it makes me sound old," I whispered.
"What?" he said, aghast. "Baby, you shouldn’t hate your birthdays. You’re smart, beautiful, and accomplished. That’s what you should be celebrating."
Beautiful, maybe. Smart? I’ll take that. But accomplishe
