One of her hands rubs the opposite arm. “I, uh…” She clears her throat. “New Year’s is always a weird moment for me. You know, time passing and stuff.”

Her words feel like a punch to the solar plexus. That had never even crossed my mind.

“I understand,” I say, looking back toward the stairs. “Do you want me to leave you alone?”

She shrugs. “I don’t want to keep you away from your family.”

That, in Wren’s words, means please don’t go.

Instead of telling her I’m not going anywhere, I say, “Would anything make this easier for you?”

Her lips twist to the side. “I mean, I guess not being alone is something new.”

“You like it?” I take a step forward.

My watch glows in the dimness of the hallway. 11:59.

Her throat bobs. She stays silent as she nods slowly.

“Good,” I say in a low voice.

The air is thick around us. Downstairs, the music stops, and I hear Will asking Ma in a loud, tipsy tone if she has any party horns, but surprisingly, no one calls me to come join them. As if they know that whatever I’m doing, it’s important to me.

And it really is.

Wren’s perfume envelops me just like on Christmas night in her apartment as she takes a micro-step closer. Lilacs, and something citrusy. It’s addictive. The second I inhale it, I know I want more.

But really, I just want more of her.

Her breathing is getting faster. I can see it from the way her chest rises and falls, the sparkles on her dress making her look like a shooting star.

As I shift forward, her face only a foot away from me, something catches my eye above us. I’d missed it before.

Mistletoe.

A side of my lips curls up. Callie placed mistletoe all across the house when she decorated with Ma a few weeks ago. I’m not sure why. Maybe precisely for this reason.

And it’s in that moment I realize I will make a move. There’s no way I won’t. She’s here, so fucking beautiful I lose my words when I look at her, her smell and voice and laugh all I can think about. I don’t know when I started craving her this much, but now, it’s right there in the middle of my brain.

Will was right. She’s what I want.

Downstairs, everyone starts calling the countdown, starting from twelve.

Twelve seconds away from starting a new year. From beginning again.

Eleven.

Ten.

While my eyes move from the mistletoe to the woman standing in front of me, hers climb to the branch hanging above us. I wait for her to step back in shock.

Nine.

She doesn’t move.

Eight.