I have a love/hate relationship with October. On one hand, I love the fact that the dry Memphis heat finally seems to let up and allow a slight chill to pass through. I love the changing colors of the leaves, and the idea of the pumpkin patches and haunted houses that I was never able to attend as a kid. On the other hand, I hate the hard financial hit to my bank account every year the month rolls around.

Kicking mom and her addiction to the curb was bittersweet; I didn't want to throw my obviously struggling mother out onto her ass, but I don't have the means to help her, and she didn't seem to want it anyway. Savannah needed a safe environment, this last year as an adolescent critical for her future. We're lucky we've been able to dodge CPS as many times as we have, and I'm not looking to risk that now. It's only been two weeks since her departure and scarily abnormal radio silence, and while I hate the reason for it, my sanity and bank account are sighing in relief.

Two weeks of not having to take extra shifts to make up for the money mom typically snagged from my wallet on a daily basis. Two weeks of amazing tips from Vice. Two weeks of decent fucking sleep for the first time in a year. Two glorious, stress-free weeks with Savannah and Austin; my two favorite people.

Since working at Vice, I've managed to pay all of the bills on time for once, which leaves me with the ability to splurge on my little sister. Sav's birthday sits two weeks after the first of the month, and I'm taking it upon myself to go extra hard this year and make it the best one yet. And a quiet Sunday evening spent in Austin's downtown loft while Savannah finishes her shift at the grocery store is the perfect place to practice my cake decorating skills.

Which... isn't as easy as I first thought it'd be.

The lid of Austin's super fancy trashcan swings open, allowing me to pour out the toxic waste that I just spent ten minutes slinging across Austin's similarly super fancy kitchen, courtesy of his super fancy cake mixer that I didn't know how to work.

"It's a faulty mixer," I hedge defensively over the sound of Austin's laughter.

"It's brand new! And I was gone for five minutes," He howls.

I stomp to the sink and begin washing out the mixing bowl, glaring at the chocolate flavored sludge making its way down the drain. "I did everything the box said!"

He's still chuckling when he rounds the island. I watch as he picks up the box the cake mix came in and wipes away the batter that coats it, bringing the tiny lettering back into view. "You added water?" he asks, reading off of the back.

"Yep."

"Vegetable oil?"

"Yes."

"Eggs?"

I freeze, one hand stretched across the counter with a wet dish towel under it.

My silence causes another round of laughter to pour from his lips. "It's not funny!" I squeak.

"Was this your first time making a cake?" He smirks, playfully snatching the dish towel from my grasp. I can't help but smile sheepishly, his laughter and good mood contagious.

"I thought I could handle it," I defend.

Austin turns to the sink and runs the dish towel under the faucet. "You can," he replies, "If you use eggs this time."

I snort, but reach for the Walmart bag haphazardly lying on the floor. Inside are four more boxes of cake mix, multiple cans of different colored frosting, and a dozen canisters of sprinkles of all shapes, sizes, and shades. We might have went a little overboard. "Guess it's a good thing we bought another box then, right Betty Crocker?"

He opens the stainless steel fridge and slides me the carton of eggs. When I reach for them, he puts a hand on top of them, halting my movements. "Can I trust you not to paint my kitchen again?"

I flash him a saccharine smile. "Only if you help this time."

"I had something important to take care of," he shrugs innocently. I snatch the carton of eggs and bump my hips with his, pushing him to the side. I reach for the now clean mixing bowl and deftly open the box of cake mix. "Oh, you mean the Saints game?" I smirk, gesturing towards the exposed brick wall across the loft, an 80 inch flat screen mounted in the center.

"It was intense," he defends.

"Oh, I bet," I pass him a measuring cup, and he silently carries out my command, filling it with tap water. "Did we win?"

He smiles at my use of 'we' and leans forward, pouring the water into the bowl and laying a loud kiss on my cheek. "Damn straight, baby."

10 minutes later, the cake is properly mixed (courtesy of Austin; he wasn't taking any chances this time) and sitting in the oven at 375. I eye Austin from my spot on his kitchen counter, my feet swinging mindlessly while I lick at the chocolate covered spoon. "Thank you for cake-testing with me tonight," I say sheepishly.

He looks over his shoulder at me, drying his hands with a paper towel. "I'd never pass up the chance to eat cake," he shrugs, grinning. When he walks past me to throw the paper towel in the trash, I stop him with a bare foot to his chest. "Thank you. Seriously. I want this birthday to be the best one yet."

Austin's hand grips my ankle, pushing my leg down as he comes to stand between my legs. He reaches for the spoon and moves it to his own lips. "You're welcome," he says easily. "Thank you for letting me cake test with you. I want this day to be special for both of you, and I'm glad I get to celebrate with you this year."

My shoulders fall, and I bow my head. When he says stuff like that...

I clench my fists around the edge of the counter and clear my throat. Without saying anything, Austin tosses the spoon in the sink, leans forward, and pulls my head to his chest, wrapping his arms around me. "Stop making me cry," I mutter.

A deep laugh rumbles from his chest and I burrow my head further into his hoodie-covered chest. "Hey, look at me," he says lightly. I oblige, silently meeting his cobalt blue gaze. He swipes a hand across my cheek, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.

"It's gonna be kickass, all of it. The cake, the food, the party. She's gonna love it, baby," he vows.

"She's never had a party before. Much less a surprise one. It's just... so important to me. And the fact that she's not even expecting any of this breaks my heart, but.. I don't know. Ugh, you're making me sappy," I shove him playfully.

"Did you know that I bought that mixer the day after you told me you'd be making her cake and not buying it? I never did that before you. I've never baked a cake in my damn life either, never wanted to. But when you say things like that to me it makes me want to buy an apron and a cookbook and get to work. So, I get it. It's important to you, so it's important to me too," he says, voice deep and serious, gaze unwavering.

My throat clogs with emotion and I let out a choked laugh. "Dammit, look what you did!" I point to my face, eyes misty with unshed tears.

I grasp the front of his hoodie and pull him forward, crashing my lips with his. I kiss him with everything I have, everything that it's too damn early to say, much less feel after only knowing each other for a month.

It's absolutely fucking insane. In only a little over month, thirty something odd goddamn days, Austin Delaney has managed to waltz into my chaotic, unstable life, and make me feel like I finally fucking belong in it.

I sit on his shiny granite countertops, kissing Austin with reckless abandon and the finesse of two horny teenagers who are reluctant to come up for air right up until the timer on the oven goes off. When it does, Austin reluctantly steps away, cheeks flushed and eyes blazing, breathing heavily. He swoops in for one more chaste peck before reaching for a pair of oven mitts sitting on the counter.

Austin and I spend the rest of the evening sloppily decorating the first cake of our test round. When it's finished I curl up in his lap on his oversized leather sectional, while we share a slice of the chocolate-y goodness and watch the game highlights on ESPN. At a quarter to ten, I reluctantly uncurl myself from his lap, slip on my shoes, grab my purse, and follow Austin to the door.

The short car ride to the grocery store is spent with the windows down, a nice chill breeze whipping at my skin while we jam to old school rap. Savannah greets us with a cheeky grin and an envelope in hand, leaning forward and waving it under my nose after she hops in the backseat.

"Get a good look at the first check going towards my future car! This baby's getting cashed and going straight to the lockbox under my bed," she sighs happily.

I order her to sit back and put her seatbelt on with a smile. Austin's hand snakes across my lap and squeezes my thigh. I lock gazes with him, his small, content grin matching my own.

At home, I pass Sav my house keys and watch as she jumps from the Jeep, happily bounding up the front steps.

Austin reaches for a dial on the stereo and turns the volume down. "You working the morning or afternoon shift at RJ's tomorrow?"

"Neither. Bills are paid, so I'm free until my shift at Vice on Wednesday. I get to sleep in," I say giddily.

Austin squeezes my thigh again. "Can I pick you up for lunch tomorrow?"

A herd of butterflies take flight in my chest. I unbuckle my seat belt and lean forward. "I'd love that. Can we go to Waffle House?" A smile tugs at his lips and he leans forward, meeting me halfway. He kisses me softly, sucking at my bottom lip gently. Eventually we come up for air, parting reluctantly. "It's a date."

—

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