He promptly picked the dog up and said, “I’m making something good but it’s not for you, pooch.”
I strode over and looked in the pan. “I see you found my chocolate stash.”
“I sure did. You have good taste, I’ll give you that. Imported Swiss chocolate is about all you have in the pantry. Luckily I found some marshmallows and sugar, and we are in business.”
Daniel stirred the chocolate, melting it slowly, and then walked to the liquor cabinet. He didn’t need to stand on tiptoes to reach, and stealthily retrieved a bottle of Glenlivet.
It was just now that I noticed the Keurig was running, brewing a cup of coffee.
“I’m afraid to ask,” I said. “Are you planning to be up all night?”
“I’ll tell you what—not with that thing. Where the heck is your coffeemaker? A real one. A French press would be better. That’s junk, but I needed something in a pinch.” He winked at me, his eyes practically glittering as he made his way around my kitchen, owning the space.
“So, you’re a coffee snob?”
“Coming from Little Miss I Only Buy Swiss Chocolates.”
“Touché.”
Sitting on the stool, I snuck a peek at my watch. Ten more minutes until midnight.
“Tell me, what is it you are concocting in my kitchen? It’s the most use this space has seen in a long time.”
He was facing the stovetop and turned to catch my eyes. I secretly loved this about Daniel. He always connected when he talked with someone.
“A sweetened-up version of kilted coffee. Let’s call it kilted hot cocoa with a splash of coffee.”
“Did you invent this?”
“Nah, just perfected it.”
He swept the pot off the stovetop and poured a bit of chocolate into each of the two large mugs he’d set on the counter. Next came a shot of coffee in each. Following the chocolate and coffee, I saw he had something else on the stovetop.
“Oat milk was the best I could do,” he said, not blaming my lack of supplies. He added a few fingers of warm oat milk, followed by a few more of Glenlivet, and used a stirrer to mix each one up. “And finally,” he said with dramatic flair, “the decorations.”
“I think the right term is garnish.”
“What do you know? You don’t cook. Or are you a secret mixologist?”
I shook my head and stifled a laugh, loving the easy banter between us, quickly reminding myself Daniel was set to leave in the next day or two. I’d demanded it…probably for the best.
Tossing some marshmallows on the top of each mug, he gathered both and walked my way. “Come on. We need to see the ball drop.” He spoke gently and started walking toward the TV room, mugs in hand.
When we got there, New York City was a frenzy on television. Daniel handed me a mug and turned toward me. We stood there and it should have been awkward, but like everything with this larger-than-life Scot, it wasn’t.
His gaze didn’t leave mine as the whole gang on the screen was chanting and counting. “Ten…nine…eight,” rang out.
Daniel tilted his mug toward me and said, “Cheers, Birdie. I’m so happy I found you and you let me share this evening with you.”
It was the kindest, most heartfelt thing anyone had ever said to me.
“Five…four…three…”
I took a swig of the specialty brew, hoping it doused my rising emotions and libido. “It certainly wasn’t how I expected to ring in the New—”
The television rang out. “ONE!”
Right then, at the stroke of midnight, Daniel kissed me again. Both of us, a mug in hand, standing in front of the television, the crowd going wild, our free arms wrapped around one another, living a moment I never believed would exist.
