Page 186 of Mountain Grump

Sitting like this, I’m still slightly taller than Tilda, but it’s a perfect vantage point for watching her as she runs her fingers down the edge of the bag.

The iridescent glitter shimmers with different colors under the overhead lights. And the tissue paper sticking out the top is yellow.

I don’t know if she actually likes the color, but it reminded me of her wedding dress when I saw it at the craft store.

Itallcame from the craft store.

Well, all except the two cupcakes boxed up at the bottom of the bag.

When I lift my gaze to Tilda’s face, I find her biting her lip, staring at the bag.

“You better open it before it runs out of oxygen.”

Her gaze snaps up. “What?” Then she realizes I’m not being serious and rolls her eyes. “I’m savoring it. Don’t be a party pooper.”

A puff of laughter leaves my chest. “No one saysparty pooper. Now open your present, birthday girl.”

“Fine.” She carefully pulls out one of the sheets of tissue paper, revealing the card tucked along the side of the bag.

I almost shake my head.

I’d figured her for arip it opengift receiver. But my Tilda likes pretty things, and I guess the wrapping stuff counts as pretty. So I should’ve known.

She smooths the tissue paper out on the counter, then takes the birthday card out.

Resting my elbows on the counter, I concentrate on keeping my hands still.

Tilda opens the flap of the envelope, made from some sort of textured recycled paper, then pulls out the card, made from the same material.

She sets down the envelope and uses both hands to hold the card up in front of her.

Her eyes flit up to mine, then back down to the card.

She lets go with one hand so she can drag her finger over the surface. And I know she’s touching the hair.

As time stretches, I mentally kick myself.

It’s stupid.

A child’s card.

A simple birthday card with a drawing of a pink tiered birthday cake and a girly fairy in a matching pink and purple dress, with a wand and a crown.

But the hair was blonde. So, I bought a purple marker and colored it in.

Tilda presses her lips together. And I can’t tell if she likes it, or if she’s upset.

“It…” I clear my throat. “It reminded me of you.”

Which doesn’t explain anything. Because Tilda doesn’t know that I think of her as my Mountain Fairy.

Tilda opens the card.

And, if possible, I feel even dumber.

I’d already bought the marker, so I used that to write inside the blank card. But it’s a thick marker, so the letters are too big. Too clumsy for the pretty drawing on the front.

Her eyes trace over the words as she reads.