"Only a minute to go," he said easily. "I always think of that last
minute between years as untime."
When her brow furrowed, he knew he
had her attention and slid his arms around her.
"Not now, not then.
Not anything. If we were alone, I could do what I want with you for
those sixty seconds. But it wouldn't be real. So I'm going to wait
till it is. Put your arms around me. It doesn't count yet. Not for seconds
yet."
Montana Sky
_______________
By Nevit Dilmen (talk) - Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0,
https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=75219840
🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉
🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉
_______________
He took her hands at the countdown—ten, nine, eight. She turned to him, rose up—
seven, six, five. His arms came around her—four, three, two.
“Happy New Year, Avery.”
His lips met hers as cheers rang out, and the New Year began to tick.
As Avery rose up, Hope slipped into the kitchen. She’d open another bottle or two, she
thought, avoid the whole couples-kissing-the-New-Year-in ordeal.
She twisted off a cork as partygoers shouted out the countdown.
And Ryder walked in.
She stopped. He stopped.
“I’m just opening another bottle,” she began.
“So I see.”
Shouts of “Happy New Year!” burst out, rolled over them.
“Well,” she said. “Happy New Year.”
“Yeah. Happy New Year.” He lifted his brows when she started to offer her hand.
“Seriously? The hearty handshake again?” He shook his head, stepped to her. “Let’s do it
right.”
The Last Boyfriend
