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"Rowan?"
Rowan's heart sank.
"No," they groan petulantly in response, without turning to look at her. If they couldn't see her, they could almost pretend she hadn't actually gotten up - her voice was merely a figment of their sleep-deprived imagination. "Go back to bed."
"Are you... making breakfast?"
They could hear the smile in Portia's voice, but it didn't do much to heal Rowan's wounded pride.
"It was supposed to be a surprise..." Rowan had no choice but to admit defeat. They sigh, errant curls fluttering out of their face from the force of it. "I was going to bring it to you in bed. Start your birthday off right."
It had all been going to plan so far. Figuring out how to wake up before Portia had been tricky; she always rose with the sun, and now that they didn't have the shop to worry about, Rowan was barely functional before ten o’clock on a good morning. Pepi, ever the innovator, had come up with a most elegant solution; as soon as the first rays of sunlight woke her up, she had stealthily crawled to the bed where Rowan slept beside Portia, and bit their foot until they eventually startled awake.
(It might have taken a little more encouragement to actually wake Rowan up than either of them expected, but the bleeding had stopped quickly enough).
Once Rowan was finally up, it was simply a matter of getting out of bed and making it to the kitchen without alerting his still peacefully sleeping wife. If he hadn't been under the pressure of the ticking clock, he might have taken a few moments to simply admire her for longer. It was so rare he got to see her like this, dozing without a care in the world in the dappled lighting of early dawn, casting soft, cozy shadows over her smiling face, surrounded by a halo of auburn curls that caught aflame in the sunlight.
He would've reached out and stroked her smooth, adorably rounded cheek if it wouldn't have almost certainly woken her up. As it was, he only allowed himself a few seconds to steal a longing glance at her sleeping form, all soft curves and inviting warmth, before leaving the bedroom and gently shutting the door between them.
On quiet feet Rowan crept into the kitchen, gathering ingredients as carefully as he could so as to not spill or drop anything that could cause a clatter. Pepi wasn't of much help, what with her unfortunate lack of hands, but she made for incredibly adorable moral support as Rowan lined everything up on the counter and used their magic to light the stove. While they waited for it to come to the right temperature, they mashed the ingredients together in the mixing bowl and whisked gently until the resulting batter seemed to be the right consistency. Rowan was an astoundingly mediocre cook, especially compared to their darling wife, but any fool could whip up some halfway-decent banana pancakes.
"What'ya think, Pepi?" Rowan whispered to the rotund little cat as they offered her the mixing bowl to sniff. "Is it OK?"
Pepi chirped as quietly as a cat could chirp, and that was all the encouragement Rowan needed. Once the stove was hot enough, Rowan melted a generous amount of butter in a skillet and carefully spooned in a ladle-ful of the pancake mixture. Rowan kept kept eyes glued to it the entire time it cooked, gnawing anxiously on their finger as they tried to guess when they needed to flip it.
Once the bubbles that were forming on top started to pop, they tentatively took hold of the handle, took a deep breath, and flicked the skillet up in the air. The pancake jumped, turned over in the air, and landed neatly back down on its uncooked side. The side that had been cooking was an appetising shade of golden-brown, not so much as an edge burnt.
Rowan let out the breath they'd been holding and grinned goofily, punching the air in quiet triumph. If they'd been making this breakfast for themself, they frankly wouldn't care less what happened to it; if they burnt it, they'd just shrug, throw it out, and eat some toast instead.
But this had to be perfect. It was for Portia, and perfection was no less than she deserved. On her birthday, or any other day of the year.
Rowan managed to get through a second pancake still without incident, and had been on the third when Portia crept up on them. Infuriatingly, they probably would have stopped at three; they'd been planning on serving the pancakes with some tea, some fresh berries, and yoghurt with honey, just to make sure she had enough. If they'd been just a little faster with their preparation, they probably would've had everything finished just as Portia was waking up.
Their train of thought is interrupted as Portia sidles up to them, wrapping her arms around their waist from behind. She's not tall enough to look over their shoulder, so she peers around their left arm instead.
"You made banana pancakes?" She says incredulously, her beautiful eyes crinkling as a broad smile begins to make its way across her face.
Rowan nods slightly, giving the third pancake a half-hearted flip; unfortunately it's not quite ready, and the uncooked side splatters unattractively across the skillet as it's turned over.
"Fuck's sake," they curse. "I mean, uh. Yeah. I looked through your cookbooks after you went to bed last night. This recipe seemed simple enough, and I knew you'd like it... if I didn't cock it up, anyway."
Portia just laughs, giving Rowan a firm squeeze around the middle. "Baby, they smell amazing. And even if they didn't, it's the thought that counts." She plants a warm, soft kiss on their upper arm, just below the sleeve of the loose nightshirt they wore. "Thank you for thinking of me."
Rowan's lips part around a sigh, and he leans back into her embrace. "I think I'm always thinking of you, mo ghrá geal."
Portia snickers. "Mostly impure thoughts, I'd imagine."
At that, Rowan turns their head to look down at her, smiling wryly. She's dressed only in the gossamer babydoll she'd worn to bed, the straps slipping down her arms, hair wild and tumbling down her shoulders. Just as beautiful as the day they met her, the day they married her, and every day in between.
"Oh, naturally. I'm sure you've noticed I only made enough pancakes for you. I had a different breakfast in mind."
They wink as obnoxiously as they possibly can, and Portia bursts into a fit of giggles, swatting at them affectionately.
"Oh, you're incorrigible."
Rowan turns the final pancake out onto the plate. It's a mess, but it's properly cooked, and nothing a small avalanche of powdered sugar won't fix. In any case, he can say with confidence that Portia will love it. "You love me."
They can almost feel Portia's lips through their shirt as she smiles against their back. "I do."
Rowan turns in her embrace, ducking down to claim her lips in a gentle kiss. She cups their cheeks in both of her smaller hands, smiling into the kiss as they rest their own hands on her shoulders.
<s
"This," Rowan thinks to themself, lost in a haze of dreamlike wonder. "This is what bliss feels like."
No matter how many years they've been with her, that feeling has never faded. Every minute spent with her, they think about how lucky they are to have her. Every kiss still feels like their first.
Rowan pecks her lips once more after they eventually part, drawing another giggle out of her.
"Go sit down," they tell her softly, gesturing to the kitchen table. "I'll bring everything over in a minute."
Portia sits at the head of the table like a queen in her throne, covering her eyes as Rowan approaches with a loaded tray a few minutes later to maintain the illusion of surprise. They chuckled warmly as they set the tray down in front of her, taking the seat by her side.
"OK, you can look now."
The plate of pancakes, decorated with sugar, and Rowan's best attempt at drawing a cat with syrup. A small bowl of strawberries, raspberries, blackberries, and pitted cherries. Another bowl of yoghurt and honey. A cup of sweet mango tea. And of course, an assortment of carefully wrapped gifts.
Even as Portia uncovers her eyes and takes it all in, Rowan can't help but feel nervous. She'll like it, of course - they're her spouse, for gods' sake, they know what she likes by now - but is it enough? Could anything ever really be enough, for such a wonderful woman who never asks for much, but deserves everything the world has to offer and more?
Their worries shatter almost instantly as Portia gets up from her seat and flings her arms around them.
"Rowan, it's perfect!" She gifts them in turn with a big, smacking kiss on their cheek as she squeezes them tightly. Rowan laughs, hugging her back with such enthusiasm that they practically pull her into their lap. "You're perfect, my little firefly. Thank you so, so much."
Her words certainly leave Rowan feeling like a firefly, aglow with love as they bask in her happiness. Smiling softly, they reach up to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear, at the same time stroking her cheek as they had wanted to do when she was sleeping.
"You're more than welcome. Happy birthday, Pasha."