His hand was warm, and it engulfed hers. The roughness from his calloused fingertips juxtaposed against the soft skin of her palm. She held onto it just a little longer than could be considered polite, not wanting to let him go. When he pulled his hand away she missed the feel of his skin immediately, as though she had always known his touch.

‘So, is this really your pub then?’ he asked.

Grace explained about her mum passing away when she was just a toddler, and how she was an only child. She told him that her dad died a few months earlier, and left the place to her, lock, stock and quite literally, barrel. She told him all about how close she and her dad were and how lost she’d felt without him. Her only remaining relative was her beloved aunt. She was helping out with the pub over the festive period but had moved to Leeds a few years earlier when she met her husband. Before long, the handsome, intimidating stranger, had her jabbering about herself in a way she wouldn’t have thought possible only fifteen minutes before.

‘Grace! I hate to interrupt your social life, but your break finished ten minutes ago and unless it escaped your notice, we’re a bit busy,’ her Aunt Helen shouted from across the bar.

‘I’m sorry. I’ve got to get back to work.’

He took hold of her arm as she climbed off the stool. ‘So who is the lucky fella who gets to kiss you at midnight then?’

‘There is no lucky fella,’ she said as she felt the heat creep up her neck. ‘Why?’

‘Well we can’t have that now, can we? Everyone has to kiss someone at midnight on New Year’s Eve.’

Grace’s stomach started to perform all kinds of unexpected gymnastics. What did he mean by that? Surely not?

‘I’ll come find you at twelve,’ he said, before winking at her and disappearing into the crowd.

The rest of the night passed in a blur. Grace kept replaying the conversation with Nathan over in her head. Did he really mean he wanted to kiss her? Surely he was joking? Or drunk? Or both? What if he left before midnight?