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I roll my eyes.

“Want a topper?” one of the hosts offers, tipping more champagne into my glass.

“Thanks.” I smile when I realize it’s Devin.

“Devin!” Danika shouts enthusiastically, throwing her arms around his neck, nearly pouring her glass of champagne down his back. “Sadie, this is one of the doctors I love to work with. This is his place.” She redirects her attention back to Devin. “I’ve been looking for you all night. Wanted you to meet my girl.”

He smiles at me. “I have. Been speaking with Sadie all night.”

“Where have I been?”

“Talking to everyone else,” I say, my cheeks even rosier when Devin winks at me. It’s been nice, if I’m being honest with myself. I didn’t actually know he was a doctor until now. Whenever we crossed paths, we’d engage in tangents of conversation that were far from the generic questions: What do you do? Where are you from? Who do you know here?

Our first encounter tonight, we talked about the current books we’re reading. When I passed him after coming out of the restroom, he asked what I thought about a popular art installation we’d both visited in SoHo. It became a kind of game, getting to know each other by sharing our favorite park in the city or street vendor after a show. Fun and playful. I began purposely interrupting his path, and I have a feeling he started doing the same.

Someone announces, “Two minutes!”

Devin plucks a clean glass from a tray and fills it with champagne. “Any resolutions?”

I shake my head at the same time Danika says, way too loudly, “To move on!” She points at me in emphasis. My cheeks erupt into flames.

Devin raises a brow. I shrug in an embarrassed affirmative.

I barely notice when the countdown begins. The lead singer of the band starts at, “Ten!” Everyone joins in while the drummer thumps the kick drum in time.

“I’d be honored to help you with that resolution,” Devin says, standing in front of me. He’s definitely older than me, by how much I have no idea. His green-gold eyes crinkle with smile lines when his mouth forms a tantalizing grin. Dark blond hair is tucked behind his ears, and the cleft chin could make him a contender for the Dr. McDreamy title. Sorry, Patrick. Devin’s British accent multiplies his rugged good looks and sophisticated charm by a thousand.

“Happy New Year!” the entire room shouts as the band belts out a rock rendition of Auld Lang Syne with a shrieking lead guitar.

Devin waits for me to incline my head. “To moving on,” I say just before his lips welcome in the year with new promises.

Happy New Year!” blows up my phone—co-workers, names I deleted long ago, and, of course, Rachel. She’s become a name that’s appeared on my phone more and more recently. I don’t really mind because her messages are hilarious—a meme, an embarrassing confession, videos of her speaking into the camera, making absurd comments from wherever she is—a party or bar mostly. She doesn’t complain when I rarely respond, and if I do, it’s usually just one or two words.

Rachel: Resolution?

Me: Nope

Rachel: They’re stupid!

Rachel: I’ve got five.

I laugh.

Me: 1. Present the right notes at the meetings.

Rachel: Hell no. I do that on purpose.

I almost don’t doubt it.

I wonder how much anyone really knows Rachel. She’s funny and easily draws laughter at her expense. There must be more to her than that. But I’m not seeking to unravel the mystery, preferring to keep it an easy and light distraction. Restricted to the phone.

Rachel: Listen better.

I stare at my phone for a moment. Is this legit? Or is she setting me up for another twist on words?

Me: To who?

Rachel: Not the voices in my head!