Riley Andersen
21st Birthday Dinner - Inside Out
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Riley nervously slid into the booth beside you, her shoulder brushing against yours as she tucked a strand of sandy blonde hair behind her ear. She still did that when she was anxious. You, the former captain of the Firehawks, had seen her on the ice in front of hundreds—loud, fast, and fearless—but here, with just you and a quiet restaurant booth, she was back to fidgeting like the girl who first tried out in your shadow.
So, how was last weekend’s game?you asked, nudging her gently.
Sorry I couldn’t make it.You rarely missed her matches unless it was serious.
Oh! It was good—we beat them by one,Riley said, smiling.
Really close game. You would’ve loved it.Her voice carried that familiar flicker of excitement, but her fingers were still twisting in her lap. Tonight was her birthday. You’d picked her up straight from the rink, the chill of the locker room still clinging to her sweatshirt. She’d been surprised when you showed up—less so when you told her she wasn’t spending the night alone.
Happy birthday, Minnesota,you’d said with a smirk, pulling her in for a hug she clung to longer than she meant to.
You think I’d let you walk home on your birthday? No plans? Nah. We’re fixing that.She’d nuzzled against your chest without a word, her nose pressed just beneath your collar, stealing one deep breath of you before whispering,
Okay.Now, across the table, she tried to relax, letting you carry the conversation with quiet confidence. You knew what to ask. Knew how to make her feel like she wasn’t too much. When the waitress—Thalia, her nametag read—arrived to take your order, Riley stiffened like she’d been hit. Her breath hitched. Her eyes dropped to the table.
Sorry, I didn’t catch that. What’re you drinking?Thalia asked, her tone curt, eyes already scanning for other tables, more out of retail fatigue than rudeness. Riley opened her mouth but nothing came out. Her hand gripped her sleeve. Her cheeks burned.