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Happy birthday, Cynthia!

When Jack had come up with that invitation out of nowhere, Cynthia had immediately been filled with raw, wild excitement, which resulted in her spending five whole minutes rolling on the bed in ecstasy, before picking up the phone the hare had written on with a skittish movement, “When?” Cynthia had hurriedly typed, her mind already picturing the possible ways in which they would have spent the evening – even the night, maybe – at his house, giggling like a little fool as she fell prey to the headiest euphoria.

And so, when he had told her the name of a renowned restaurant downtown, Cynthia took a good while to figure out why Jack had brought it up. “Let’s meet there, this Monday night at 22:00 P.M.,” the message continued, without giving any further explanation. “Don’t be late.”

‘He wants to take me out to dinner?’ The vixen had wondered, confused. Suddenly, the tenderness that had overwhelmed her was in danger of dispelling in a dreary puff of smoke. However, it still was an invitation from Jack, and there was no way Cynthia would’ve not accepted it. Although, she was at least allowed to express a bit of disappointment, wasn’t she? “I’ll be deadly punctual, Mr. Turner. But I do admit I wasn’t expecting this kind of proposal from you.”

A whole minute had passed before Jack finally replied: “Is it so unusual that I ask you out the eve of your birthday?” Cynthia remembered very well the heartache she had felt in reading those words; that’s why the vixen had hereby swore she wouldn’t have pulled any further rank because the evening Jack was offering her was a bit different from her wildest expectations. Perhaps, she had told herself, they would’ve gone to his house after dinner. And then, at the stroke of midnight, in the innermost solitude… yes, Cynthia would have finally claimed her birthday present.

She just had to be patient.

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