Page 8 of To Her

He smiled, extending one arm for my inspection. "They're not thrilled, but as long as they can be covered by the uniform, they don't care much."

I leaned closer, examining the intricate designs. They were primarily black and grey, with occasional splashes of colour—a full sleeve of geometric patterns interwoven with more organic elements. Waves, mountains, what looked like star charts.

"These are beautiful," I said honestly. "Who's your artist?"

"Different people for different pieces. The main work was done by a guy up north." He studied me with renewed interest. "You have ink too, right? I noticed the cherry blossoms."

I touched my shoulder where the tattoo peeked out from my dress. "Yeah, and a few others. Nothing as extensive as yours, though."

"Yet," he said with a smile that made something warm unfurl in my stomach.

The conversation flowed easily after that. We talked about tattoos, then music (we had similar taste), then books (he read more than I expected), then travel (he'd been to places I'd only dreamed of). He was funny in an understated way, dropping dry observations that made me laugh despite myself. And he listened—really listened—when I spoke, his eyes never leaving my face.

I was so engrossed in our conversation that I barely noticed the time passing until Jake appeared beside us, champagne bottles in hand.

"Midnight in ten minutes, people! To the deck for fireworks!"

Matt stood, offering me his hand. "Shall we?"

I hesitated only briefly before taking it. His palm was warm and calloused against mine, his grip firm but gentle. A shiver ran up my arm at the contact, and I found myself wondering what those hands would feel like elsewhere on my body.

The thought sent a rush of heat to my core, and I had to clench my thighs together as I stood. It had been too long since I'd felt this kind of attraction—this immediate, visceral response to someone.

We followed the crowd onto the deck, where the air was cool and salt-scented. The ocean stretched out before us, a vast expanse of darkness broken only by the reflection of stars and the distant lights of boats. Someone had set up speakers outside, and music mingled with the sound of waves and laughter.

Matt led me to a spot at the railing, slightly removed from the main group. "Better view from here," he explained, though I suspected he, like me, preferred a little distance from the crowd.

As we waited for midnight, he told me about growing up north, about his parents and how he liked it better down here. I found myself sharing more than I intended—about my half-Chinese heritage, my complicated relationship with my father, my love of art that I rarely indulged anymore.

"You should make time for it," he said when I mentioned neglecting my drawing. "If it's something you love."

"Maybe," I said noncommittally. "When life settles down."

He gave me a look that suggested he knew that time might never come unless I made it happen, but he didn't push.

Around us, people began counting down the final seconds of the year. Matt turned to face me fully, his expression suddenly serious.

"I'm glad Jake introduced us," he said, his voice low enough that only I could hear it over the countdown.

"Me too," I admitted, surprising myself with my honesty.

"TEN! NINE! EIGHT!" the crowd chanted.

"I'd like to kiss you at midnight," Matt said, his eyes searching mine. "If that's okay."

My heart hammered against my ribs. "It's okay," I managed.

"SEVEN! SIX! FIVE!"

He stepped closer, one hand coming to rest lightly on my waist. I could smell him now—a mix of clean laundry, whiskey, and something uniquely him.

"FOUR! THREE! TWO!"

I tilted my face up to his, my lips parting slightly in anticipation.

"ONE! HAPPY NEW YEAR!"

As fireworks exploded over the ocean, Matt's mouth found mine. The kiss was gentle at first, almost tentative—a question rather than a demand. But when I responded, leaning into him, his arm tightened around my waist, pulling me closer.

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