Crap. I checked my phone for messages. Zilch. Zip. No voice mail. No e-mail. No new comments on the blog.

He was working, I told myself. Everyone in the restaurant world worked on New Year’s Eve. There would be two seatings and a special menu. The kitchen would be hot and crowded and intense, crackling with energy. At midnight, there would be a special champagne toast, and Eric would circulate through the dining room, making every guest feel welcome.

“Maybe you will call me when you visit New York.” His long-distance booty call. But, oh, that look in his eyes when I told him I wasn’t coming back . . .

I grabbed my phone. Not calling. Come see me, I texted.

Not that I was counting on an answer. I’d broken up with him. Or he’d broken up with me. Besides, he was in the middle of service. The kitchen would stay open as long as people were there and ordering. He probably wouldn’t even check his messages until morning.

I switched to the ball drop in Times Square. Nothing like watching puking hordes of tourists in the Hellmouth to make me feel better about missing New Year’s Eve in New York. I wondered how Amy was faring with her friends. I hoped she was happy. Or at least warm.

The dog put her head on my knee, fixing me with Disney dog eyes.

“Happy New Year,” I said, and let her lick the spoon.

My phone pinged. I lurched for it, rousing a bark from Lady.

A single word. When?

A grin started on my insides and spread to my face. He was coming! He was coming? He’d just been down here to visit his boys. He rarely left the restaurant. I couldn’t hope . . . I didn’t expect . . .

NC is beautiful in the spring, I typed, and held my breath.

I’ll be there. Happy New Year, beautiful Jo.

My whole body suffused with smiles. Happy New Year.

I fell asleep on the couch, covered with a blanket, breathing in the good Christmas-tree smell. Sometime during the night, the dog crawled up on the couch with me, a heavy, comforting presence.

In the morning, the dog slunk down, and Daisy and DJ took her place. “Auntie Jo!”

“Oof,” I said as DJ’s knee found my stomach.

“Sorry.” Meg, flushed and pretty, appeared at the bottom of the stairs. “I told them to let you sleep.”

I cuddled them close, ignoring my queasiness at the faint whiff of diaper. “It’s okay.”

Meg frowned. “Are you all right?”

I reached for my phone under the blanket. Smiled. “Too much ice cream last night.”

Meg nodded. “I’ll make coffee.”

“Coffee would be great,” I said fervently. “Thanks.”

She laughed and corralled her herd, driving them toward the kitchen. I sat a minute, taking slow, deep breaths. Checked my phone. No text from Eric.

That’s okay, I told myself. At least I wasn’t running away anymore. I was moving forward. Even if I couldn’t quite see my destination yet.