For a moment, I feel a flash of connection—someone else who finds this overwhelming too.
“A bit,” I admit, setting my watered-down drink on a nearby table.
“I know a quieter spot by the west railing,” he offers. “Better view of where they’ll launch the fireworks, too.”
It’s a perfectly innocent invitation. He seems nice. Normal. Safe. But my eyes are already scanning the crowd again, searching for a different silhouette, a different smile.
What is wrong with me?
“That sounds nice, but—” I start, when a server sweeps by with champagne flutes on a tray. Genna grabs two and presses one into my hand.
“Almost midnight,” she says, excitement brightening her eyes. “In just one hour, we say goodbye to this year.”
I take the champagne automatically, the stem cool between my fingers. The golden liquid fizzes and pops, tiny bubbles racing to the surface like all the anxious thoughts I can’t seem to contain. The dress that felt empowering in the store is now suffocating. I shift my weight, tugging subtly at the hemline.
Paul says something that makes the group laugh, but the sound reaches me as if through water—distorted and distant. The city lights spread below us in a glittering expanse, buildings outlined against the night sky like a geometry problem I can’t solve. My ears ring with the buzz of a hundred conversations, glasses clinking, music pulsing through speakers.
I need to get out of here.
“Excuse me,” I say, setting my untouched champagne on a nearby table. “I just need some air.”
Genna’s forehead creases with concern. “We’re already outside, Chey.”
“I know, I just—” I gesture vaguely toward the elevator. “Bathroom. I’ll be right back.”
“Want me to come with?” she offers, already detaching herself from Paul’s side.
“No!” The word comes out too forcefully. I soften it with a smile. “No, stay with Paul. I’ll be back before midnight, I promise.”
She doesn’t look convinced, but she nods. “Okay. We’ll stay right here until you get back.”
“Deal.” I squeeze her hand quickly, then turn to Michael. “It was nice talking to you again.”
He smiles, disappointment flickering briefly across his face. “The offer for the quieter spot stands, if you change your mind.”
I nod, already backing away. “Thanks.”
The journey to the elevator feels like navigating an obstacle course. Bodies press against me from all sides, the music grows louder as I pass the DJ booth, and every breath brings a new cloud of cologne or perfume that makes my head spin. By the time I reach the elevator bank, my heart is racing, and sweat prickles along my hairline despite the December chill.
I jab the down button repeatedly, willing the doors to open. When they finally slide apart, revealing an empty car, I nearly sob with relief.
I step inside, pressing the lobby button before leaning against the cool metal wall. The doors begin to close, and I exhale slowly, relishing the approaching silence.
“Hold the door!”
No. No, no, no.
But my body reacts instinctively, my hand shooting out to stop the doors before my brain can override the response. The doors slide back open, and there he is.
Dylan.
He slips into the elevator slightly out of breath, his hair charmingly disheveled as always. Our eyes meet, and something electric passes between us—a current I feel all the way to my fingertips.
“There you are,” he says, his voice a mixture of relief and determination. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
The doors slide shut behind him, trapping us together in this small metal box. I cross my arms over my chest, a defensive posture I’m too agitated to disguise.
“Just needed some space,” I say, aiming for casual but landing somewhere closer to tense. “It’s a bit much up there.”
