Page 75 of A Very Snowed In New Year
“I saw what you wrote. Did I tell you that?”
“What? You mean after I pinned it to the wall?”
“Yeah. I had no idea the beautiful girl I saw was you, and I had no idea you meant me.”
She smiles. “I meant you. What’s your New Year’s wish?”
“Well, they were called resolutions in my family. When I was growing up, my dad always had us write them down and then at dinner on New Year’s Eve we’d all read them aloud, for accountability. And that forced us to really think about what we wanted and how to articulate it. And I forgot to make a list this year, actually. But I can think of one very new resolution I have for this year.”
“Tell me.”
I’m not going to tell her the real resolution, which is to spend every New Year’s Eve with her from now on. It’s too early to say that one out loud. But I know it’s what I want and I know I’ll dowhatever it takes to make it happen. I’m her first and I want to be her last, but I can be so many different men for her that she won’t feel like she’s missing out.
What Iwilltell her is this: “I’m going to make sure that every single day this year you know how much I like you.” Placing her hand over my heart, I say, “And I hope to make the same resolution for next year too.”
One more kiss on her upward-turned lips. “Let’s get back in bed.”
TWENTY-TWO
Piper
SHOULD TROLLED ASSISTANTS BE DISTRAUGHT
New Year’s Day
I awaken to the sound of “Dreams” by The Cranberries, as always, and it’s all in my head. Stretching out in bed, I find myself sore in places and ways that I have never been sore before. And I like it.
But I also find myself in bed alone.
I sit up and look around. Everything’s blurry, because I took my contacts out before going to sleep. I have to get out of bed to get my glasses from my handbag, which is…somewhere. I’m wearing Holden’s sweatshirt and sweatpants as well as my very long socks and yet another ridiculous pair of thong undies courtesy of my roommate. That must be what’s making me feel uncomfortable—the thong. As I make some adjustments and put on my glasses, I realize I can hear music from the TV in the living room.
The power is back on.
But I don’t see or hear Holden when I shuffle out of the bedroom and look around. He isn’t in the living room or the bathroom or the kitchen. The song on the music channel changes to “Both Sides Now” by Joni Mitchell. The really sad version fromLove Actually.
Oh shit.
It’s a sign.
“I can’t believe this is happening!” I cry out to the Universe and Aristotle, the god of story structure and demon of third-act breakups. “Nooooooooo!”
I feel weak. I lie down on the floor. I’m too sad to cry, even.
And then I hear footsteps on the porch. And then the front door opens. “What happened?”
It’s Holden.
I bolt upright. He’s all bundled up in his coat and scarf and gloves and a knit beanie that makes him look even cuter somehow. My HEA is back. “It’s you!”
“What are you doing on the floor?” he asks. And then he looks over at the TV. “Oh God. You thought I abandoned you.” He kicks off his boots, puts a big paper bag down on the table by the door, pulls off his gloves, and picks up the remote to change the channel. Now there’s jazzy, upbeat instrumental music playing. “So you know this is a romantic comedy,” he says with a wink.
Suck it, third-act breakup!
You are banned from the book of my life.
He saunters over, holding his hands out to me, and lifts me up. “Did you not see my message or the note I left you?” He hugs me.
“No,” I say sheepishly. “I just woke up.”
