Baby by the river, on an ark of reed

Neva sweetly, viscerally hums and sings songs while living her moment of creating art and pleasure.

Fresh chocolate cake baked on two containers, she had sliced each of them in two halves.

Now she layers, each of them, smoothening the chocolate cream within. The cake appears to be enormously soft and moist.

It's for her husband, he would be older by a year on the turning day. She had him out at the farmer's market to fetch groceries. Secretly scheming to surprise him at the 0:00 hour.

On the chair, paired by the little dining table, by the wall of her tiny kitchen, rests Anna, her hand unceasingly scratching the chubby orange kitty's round cheeks.

Ella the pretty kitty purrs sweetly curled up in Anna's lap.

Anna's gaze glued on Neva, trailing her moves, perceiving her graceful hand creaming the cake.

Her eyes earnest and gleaming as if Neva appears a fairy, golden glittering pixie dust sprinkling along her little sways—circling the cake. Magically fashioning the moist chocolate cake.

The cat meows in a small voice, her human's graze on the soft of her cheek shifting apart.

"Oo, sorry Ella." Anna cooes, as the kitty closes the eyes, purring, sustaining being scratched on the soft cheeks, oh teeny Ella so loves.

They draw Neva's consciousness, her hummings spiralling to a freeze. She smiles at them, never having imagined cats to be insanely adorable.

Four days after their rescue of Anna from the pond, her presence greeted their cottage with cookies in her hand and Ella. Hoping to present them a small token of gratitude with the cookies she baked.

Since then, it had been two weeks and four days. Today was the third of February.

Neva charms souls, Anna in a breath warmed up to her and desired her familiarity. Even grumpy Ella marked her scent on Neva.

Neva, brushing the perfecting touches—places the cake inside it's see through keeper.

"You must be bored." Neva remarks, hiding the cake between the engaged fruits. Anna looks up at her, "Not at all." She smiles. Neva closes the door of the standard sized refrigerator, she turns around to face Anna.

"I'm glad then. The cookies should be done soon." She smiles, in the oven—cycle of baking chocolate chip cookie dough bars has been for almost twenty minutes.

The entrance door opens and his voice echoes, "I'm back Angel!" Rhett closes the door behind. Coursing through the parlor, gleeful eyes searching Neva.

The open kitchen on the soft corner, his eyes threading with Neva's. "Welcome back." Neva addresses—walking towards him.

"Did you bring everything I asked?" She asks, scrutinizing the goods within the cotton bag.

"Yeah." Rhett replies, his mood suddenly sour.

Anna and that darned tangerine cat once again, intruding his blossoming romance with his Angel. He would have showered her with kisses, and probably, intensify further intimacy.

Nevertheless, PDA would be brutal for the sight of a child. Anna and that angry cat visits their home too often, he strongly dissaproves of them.

"What's wrong?" Neva senses his frown deepening, the grocery bag now in her hands.

He shakes his head, "Nothing." Feathering her cheek with a loving kiss, he ambles towards their room. Neva stands there, tilting her head, wondering what went wrong.

The choco chip cookie dough bars baked great. The evening tolling, Neva and Rhett, their guests Anna and Ella round their cozy dining table. Shares of words between the girls over tea and sweet cookies.

Those little munches of Ella on her snack, her round face, pretty brownish stripes over her vibrant orange fur.

She meows for more, those tiny triangle ears standing straight, sparkling black golden eyes, little burnt orange nose.

Neva swoons over her, heart out on the palm—placing her on the lap.

Anna peers at them in awe, Ella loafing up cozy in Neva's arms. "I love her so much." Neva murmers, the hushed husband beside her frowning roughly hard. Sipping his tea. His thin lips tightening up.

Whenever the cat's here, he's always a little more overlooked.

---

In the midnight, Rhett slumbers in his bed so beautifully serene. Neva silently slipped out of the bed. Carefully in the kitchen, she prepares the cake.

Cornsilk white, blush pink, cocoa roses and olive green leaves vining on the edges. She phrases a wish down 'Merriest birthday to my dashing husband' in stylish, cursive letters. She plants down four, svelte milk white candles in the midst.

She peeks at him through the aperture of their door, standing behind enthusiastically. She gazes down at the time, her phone brand new.

Twenty three seconds remaining, she hurries back to the kitchen, lightens up the candle and trudges towards the dreaming man.

Scrupulously she glides inside the room. Looks at him, so tranquiled. "Rhett wake up."

He turns to the other side, aware of the voice yet prefers sleep. She purses her lips, "Rhett wake up!" Louder she calls him.

"What is it Angel?" Dizzy voice queries, eyes veiled still. "Happy birthday darling." She says, cringing a little. She never gestured him the loving epithet.

He rolls to the left, eyes protruding, breathing her in. She stands there, under the golden, dim luminescence from the reasonable prized vintage lantern. Dusting around splendour. She holds a delicious cake. His heart warms up, the scenery greatly pleasurable.

She smiles, she's aware of how to wrap him up. Her velvety lips, beautifully melodies the all mortals, birthday music along the slender alteration of lyrics. He sits up—legs crossed on the bed, she closens as the harmony progresses.

His eyes gleaming and amused, a hymn wafts out her lips. "Happy 24th birthday Rhett." Neva waves down, through her shimmery orbs—at the burning candles. "Blow the candles." She whispers away, and wherefore he's possesed by Neva, tilting his head down, he lits out the candles.

Neva gasps in horror, as he asks, "What's wrong?" She huffs out, "You forgot the wish!" The looks in her features, thumps out a hoarse chuckle from his throat. "I can still do it now?" He suggests, she squints her eyes, and pretends to surge through thoughts. Her lips arcs up, her eyes smiling. "Sure, you can."

He closes his eyes, hands together. Three seconds later, unveiling and untangling them, he picks up the knife beside the plate. He slices a little of the beautiful chocolate cake, and feeds his wife.

She tastes a bite out of it, taking the leftover piece from his hands, she has him inhale it all under.

Turning on the lights, she queries. "Were you surprised?" "Greatly surprised." He returns, smiling, on his feet, kissing her lips, softly, sensuously.

"Was the cake to your liking?" She probes. He nods. "Very flavourful." "I made it." She proudly raises her chin. His heart swelling with love for her, he dives in for her sweet lips once more.

A peck on her cheek, he embraces her. "Thank you very much my wife." She giggles, "My pleasure." She pauses not, "Do you wanna eat more of the cake or go to sleep?"

"Make love." He returns, entangling eyes with her. She gasps perplexed, her cheeks, heated and blushing cherry.

"We just did that five hours ago." She remarks, mentally calculating the elapse if she's right. Indeed she is. He pouts, "Still," he buries himself on her neck.

"It's my birthday and I always seem to want you more, deeper and higher." The words hoarse in the end, he nibbles on her ear, having her shiver.

She pushes him away, "No, if you aren't eating anymore I'll get the cake into the refrigerator." He beats her to laying his hands on the cake placed on the nightstand. He admires the beauty of the art, the letters still eminent.

Awe sailing in his orbs, he threads their eyes. "You think I'm good looking?" Neva shys away, sinking her lips with her sharp canine.

"I do." She affirms, and like a breeze his lips hovers over her.

"I love you." He floats with the clouds through her watercolor lips. "I love you too." She breathes heavily, their lips though seperate, foreheads still attached. He chuckles in amazement, "You called me darling?" "Uh-huh." She shyly confesses.

Twisted and curled up beneath the bedsheets, unadorned in garment, lay Neva and Rhett, drizzled in sweat from their romantic portray—a slow dance on the bed.

"Do you want to hear a story?" He glimpses at her weary form, her head lay on his bare, muscular chest. Eyes closed, her long wavy, tangled hair sprawled along the pillow. She hums in response.

"My late father found me, a baby by the river. On a reed basket." He says. Her head lifts, stunned eyes thrusting up to meet his.

"What?" Her brows creases.

"I know, am I Moses or what?" He chuckles.