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“I think the package I chose was called dynamically bold. The apartment complex had finishing options, and I chose one of three packages.”
“It’s warm and inviting. The windows are—”
“During the day, it’s amazing how far you can see. It also makes you realize how sprawling Houston is. You should see it from the top floors.”
“You’re on the eighteenth floor,” I remind him.
“Yeah, but it has thirty-five floors.”
“You didn’t want the top?”
“Well, I wanted a two-bedroom, and I liked this floor plan. This place is a big upgrade for me. If you’d seen where I lived as a resident, you wouldn’t be so impressed.”
“You just finished your residency, right?”
“And moved less than six months ago. Picked a furniture package too. Everything from my old place, I gave to Goodwill.”
“Well, it’s gorgeous. But two bedrooms? Not giving yourself much space for when you meet the right woman and have kids.” I meant it as a tease, although my heart stumbles a bit over the kid piece. Not because of Ian, but because for me. At thirty-nine, I am battling a severe case of what they call baby fever. Or maybe it’s baby regret. For years, I assumed I’d meet someone. Then I entertained the idea of having a child on my own, but years have passed, and I have yet to move past thinking about it.
Ian dismisses my kid comment with a roll of his eyes and raises an arm to get a server’s attention.
“We need to order drinks,” he tells the server. Then, to me, he asks, “Do you want champagne? Wine? Cocktail?”
“I highly recommend the Blue Martini. It’s our New Year’s special,” the server offers. She’s young, I’d guess in her early twenties. Her skin is flushed from rushing between tables, but she offers us a gracious smile.
“I’ll take that,” I tell her, and Ian orders bourbon on the rocks.
The second she takes off with our orders, Ian brushes a loose strand of hair out of my face, his gaze as thoughtful as ever. “I don’t have any plans for kids.”
“You say that now.” He sounds just like Oliver, but if given a chance to bet, I’d bet both of them will end up family men, just like their eldest brother. Sam always wanted kids, and now he has them. His younger two brothers will, too, even if they’ve been slower to warm to the idea.
“What about you? I always expected you’d have at least three kids by now.”
Ouch. His question hits a tender spot. One I don’t want to dig into on New Year’s Eve. “Didn’t happen.” I shrug and force a smile as the waitperson arrives with our drinks.
She slides the drinks on the table and hurries off. Ian and I both lift our glasses. He holds his glass out, asking, “What are we toasting to?”
I push my chin out, shake off all sad thoughts, and grin. The New Year toast is one I have down pat. It has yet to work, but that doesn’t mean this year won’t be the year. “To all our dreams coming true.”
Our glasses clink, and our gazes remain fixed on each other over the rims as we sip. The person on stage takes a bow, and a DJ comes on, announcing it is time to get up and dance, and that he’s taking requests. The heavy bass inSomething Just Like Thisby The Chainsmokers vibrates across the floor, and I tug on Ian’s hand. “I love his song. Come dance with me.”
Ian and I press close together in the packed area before the stage. He takes the lead, guiding our bodies to the rhythm. The song pulses, and I close my eyes, letting my body absorb the beat.
Songs transition, but Ian and I remain on the dance floor. I lose my sense of time and self, letting Ian guide my body. Every now and then we catch each other’s gaze and smile. We are two friends letting loose on New Year’s Eve. Often when I dance, I’m hyperaware of every awkward movement, but with Ian’s proximity and guidance, I just move to the beat.
For once, I belong on the dance floor. Besides, I don’t know anyone here. There’s no one watching. No one here cares who I am dancing with or if his hand accidentally brushes my ass. In the morning, or next week, or next month, women won’t be entering the salon announcing they heard I danced with so and so. For once, I am free to be me. I should’ve visited Houston years ago.
We break apart when the crowd begins the countdown. Television screens hanging from corners display the fireworks across the city.
“Ten. Nine. Eight.”
My breath halts as Ian looks down at me, one hand on the back of my neck, his thumb stroking along my jaw.
“Three. Two.”
Those probing eyes question, and I close my eyelids and angle my head, poised and waiting. Frozen, mindless, but most definitely waiting and hoping. It won’t mean anything. It would just be a New Year’s kiss. No matter how ordinary, or how hung in tradition, every fiber in my being alights with desire to be kissed at the stroke of midnight.
His lips lightly brush mine, and my eyelids flutter. Electrical sparks flood my chest, and our eyes lock in the crowded, fog-filled room. I reach up, and my fingers toy with the hair on the nape of his neck, and he dips his head. His teeth graze my lips, nipping, asking for entrance, and I open, pulling him closer until our sweaty bodies align.
