She raised an eyebrow. “Confident.”
“I’ve been practicing.”
She laughed outright at that, and God, the sound of it—light and unguarded and real—felt like something worth protecting.
The clock tower began its countdown, and the crowd chanted along.
“Ten!”
Jess pressed closer, her hand sliding up my chest to curl lightly at my collar.
“Nine!”
Her eyes lifted to mine, warm and steady now.
“Eight!”
“You sure you’re ready?” she murmured.
“Seven!”
“I’ve been ready all night.”
“Six!”
“Smartass,” she whispered, but she was smiling.
“Five!”
“Your smartass,” I corrected.
“Four!”
Her breath hitched again, soft and sweet.
“Three!”
I dipped my head a little closer.
“Two!”
“Happy almost New Year,” I said quietly.
“One!”
And then she rose onto her toes and kissed me.
It was nothing like the tentative, nervous beginning we’d had. Nothing like the heat of the barn or the careful, aching sweetness of the Twelve Stops. This one was sure—grounded—full of everything we’d survived to stand here now. Her fingers slid into my hair. My arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her flush against me as fireworks exploded above the square in bright showers of gold and white. The crowd cheered. Kids screamed. Confetti cannons popped.
But all I felt was her.
Jess. Warm and solid and kissing me like she wasn’t afraid of the future anymore.
When she finally pulled back, breath mingling with mine, she whispered, “Okay. I’m ready for this.”
“Yeah?” I murmured, brushing my thumb along her jaw.
She nodded, eyes soft. “Yeah.”
