When I opened my eyes, the first thing I saw was Papa.
He was sitting beside my bed, wearing a cozy robe the color of red apples. His long golden hair looked a little messy, like he had been sitting there for a long time. His red eyes stared at me quietly, and when he noticed I was awake, he leaned a little closer.
"You're awake?" he said in that deep, rumbly voice of his.
I nodded, still sleepy, and rubbed my eyes. Everything felt warm and soft and nice. Without thinking too much, I climbed out from under the blankets and hugged him tightly.
Papa smelled like fresh winter air and something like cinnamon.
"Happy birthday, Papa," I mumbled against his chest.
I heard him laugh a little, low and soft, before he kissed the top of my head.
"Happy birthday to you too, dear," he said.
I pulled back and looked up at him. Papa was smiling — not the scary smile he gave other people, but the real one he only showed me.
