What are you doing New Years' Eve?
It happened so naturally.
The crowd was milling about Nick's bar, drinking champagne, dressed in navy blues, golds, blacks, velvet. Everyone wore the 2013 headbands and 2013 sunglasses that had been passed around by cocktail waitresses. Gold helium balloons were weighted to the ground. The lights were dimmed. The crowd of relatively mutual acquaintances floated around one another, cheers'ing champagne flutes, keeping one eye glued to the tiny television tuned into Times Square.
Inhibitions were lowering with every fizzy glass of liquid gold. Laughter, singing, yelling. Time ticked away; excitement exploded throughout the bar.
Jess clung to the bar. Cece had one arm draped across Jess' shoulder, holding her tightly, regaling stories of why 2012 was an incredible year. Her other hand was locked tightly around her beverage. Jess, giddy with drink, listened merrily to her stories, agreeing, adding to them, and confirming that 2012 had, in fact, been monumental.
Minutes drifted away. Schmidt joined the two women, taking Cece's hand into his as they waited.
Jess felt her attention move behind her. Behind the oak bar she leaned on, Nick was loading the dishwasher. He wiped his forehead from the hot steam of the dishwasher, kicked the on switch with his foot, and took a sip of champagne from a short rocks glass.
Their eye contact was entirely comfortable. They gravitated toward one another, smiling a hello, neither one trying to come up with a reason to speak.
The crowd bellowed numbers: Ten, nine, eight…
Jess's grin grew first. Nick followed.
Four, three…
Jess reached across the bar surface, tucking her glittery hand behind Nick's neck, inching him closer. He felt damp from the dishwasher. Nick palmed Jess's cheek.
The crowd erupted with a Happy New Year; horns blew, glitter flew everywhere. They kissed past zero and the cheering, pulling apart as the gravity of their circumstance dawned on them. It seemed to happen simultaneously.
Jess leaned back onto her heels, taking her weight off the bar. She lifted her glass of champagne in the air and, nervously, spoke: "Happy New Year, Nick."
Wonder who's arms will hold you good and tight, when it's exactly twelve o'clock at night
Fin.