Page 121 of Dropping the Ball

By the time dessert has been served and removed, I am a borderline quivering mess. Intensely overcome with the generosity of the bids, yes. But also focused on the surprise I’ve been most nervous about this evening. I’m the only one who knows about it, and Micah is the only one who’s going to hear about it.

Sara Elizabeth invites everyone to stand and either make use of the dance floor or the conversation nooks that have quietly appeared at the perimeter of the room, and the lounge Micah suggested has materialized around the bar at the back. Waiters kindly invite people at the center tables to find more comfortableseating, and the second a table empties, it disappears from the floor.

In two minutes flat, the vibe of the space has changed again. The lights lower and take on a blue tinge, the deejay switches to dance music and turns it up, and everyone who is young enough, fun enough, or maybe drunk enough switches into club mode.

Madison grabs my forearms and says, “We did it.” She leans over to murmur close to my ear so I can hear her above the pulsing bass of the music. “We’re at 2.3 million right now.”

I, who am not a squealer, squeal while Madison grins. She loops her arm through mine. “It’s time to shake our moneymakers because they have clearly done the job.”

I boo her stupid joke but she hauls me out to the floor, where I, who am not a dancer, dance. And we laugh, all the worry that has gone into the gala gone, because Madison and I know. We know. We did it. We’re ready to let that joy carry us through the last fifteen minutes of this year that is ending so beautifully, into the new year that will start better than any year of my life.

I throw my arms around Micah, and I know the cheesiest smile is beaming out of my face, but I don’t care. He laughs, lifting me up to spin me, giving me a kiss as he lowers me, keeping me close.

When the opening notes of Prince’s “1999” start playing, the deejay breaks in long enough to announce, “This is the last song before our countdown, so get those donations in to make sure Threadwork can keep changing lives!”

Micah rests his forehead against mine. “It’s almost the new year. That’s wild. Any New Year’s resolutions?”

“One.”

“Are you sharing it?”

“You first,” I say. “Did you make any?”

“One,” he says.

The music fades out, and a spotlight finds Sara Elizabeth on the stage. The screen behind her lights up with a thirty-second clock. “It’s time, ladies and gentleman. In a few seconds, we’ll begin the countdown to the New Year and find out if your incredible generosity has helped us reach our goal. The ball will start moving at the ten-second mark, and if it makes it all the way down when the countdown is done, we’ve done it! Is everyone ready?”

There are cheers and shouts from all over the floor.

I turn back to Micah, my eyes meeting his. He holds my gaze, his eyes steady and bright.

“Ten, nine, eight,” Sara Elizabeth says, and the crowd picks up the chant.

I take a deep breath.

“Seven, six, five . . .”

I force myself not to squeeze my eyes shut.Go in with your eyes wide open.

“ . . . four, three, two, one! Happy New Year!” she and everyone else shouts.

Except me. And Micah. Instead, at the exact same time, we each yell, “I love you!”

Then we yell, “I said it first!”

Micah hauls me against him to deliver a kiss I feel all the way to the soles of my feet and in the depth of my soul.

“Katie-Kate-Kaitlyn?” he says, his hands framing my face. “I think we have to call it a tie.”

I press a deliriously happy kiss against his lips.

“No, Micah Croft. I think it means we both win.”

Epilogue

Micah

You can’t be aninnocent bystander when you love an Armstrong sister.

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