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“To new beginnings,” I say, clinking my glass to his.
Our waiter arrives just then, and we place our orders for each of the four courses. As he moves away with the menus, the band launches into a jazzy version of “Strangers in the Night” and I smile. “Want to dance?”
He cocks his head. “I thought you didn’t dance, Maya from Maine,” he says, calling back to that first night.
“Do you remember everything I’ve ever said?”
“Everything,” he says. “And yes, I’d love to dance. Any excuse to touch you.”
“Good,” I say, rising from my chair as he stands, holding a hand out my way. “Besides, I happen to think we move very well together.”
“That we do.” He squeezes my hand as we cross the small dance floor.
Once there, he pulls me close. Other couples move around us, but I barely notice them. All I can focus on is Anthony’s hand on my waist, his warm fingers wrapped around mine, and the sexy smell of him teasing at my nose as he guides me around the edge of the floor.
And no, we’re not the most graceful couple, but we’re in sync and in love and enjoying the hell out of ourselves, and that’s all that matters.
“I feel like Cinderella,” I say, grinning up at him.
“I feel like the cranky ogre who lived in the swamp,” Anthony says. “The one who finally woke up and realized there’s more to life than work and going home to his shack alone.”
I arch a brow. “Your ‘shack’ is the biggest, most beautiful apartment I’ve ever seen. It makes Sydney’s look like a hovel.”
“But it’s cold,” he says. “Bare. It needs books and rugs and art. I want to change everything. Together.”
After the song, we return to our table, where the first course awaits—delicately sliced raw scallops with citrus and a hint of chili oil that make me moan in appreciation.
“Should I be jealous of your appetizer?” Anthony asks, his eyes darkening at the sound.
I moan again. “Yes. I think I just cheated on you with shellfish.”
He laughs and we return to discussing ideas for warming up his big, empty apartment, both of us agreeing that we want something more like the Airbnb, a place full of thoughtfully chosen objects that remind us of things we love. As the main course arrives—herb-crusted lamb for him, duck breast for me—we move on to plans for the guest room and a special play structure for Pudge in the hallway beside the library.
And yes, my new home has a library, and yes, I’m appropriately thrilled about it.
“And a kitten friend for Pudge too, maybe?” Anthony asks. “I mean, he’ll get lonely in the house with us gone at work all day. I’ll be home more for a while, but I got an email from Columbia earlier, saying they’d be thrilled for me to fill in for one of their professors when she goes on maternity leave in March.”
“Oh my God! That’s amazing,” I say, beaming at him across the table. “You should have told me.”
“The email arrived this morning, just before we went into the closing, and I got distracted,” he says, a hopeful smile on his face. “But I think I’m going to accept. It’s a great chance to try out teaching for a shorter period of time before committing to something long-term.”
“It’s perfect,” I agree, lifting my glass of pinot noir. “To your new gig. I’m so happy for you.”
We toast again and I promise myself this is my last glass of wine. I don’t want to be too tipsy to enjoy the rest of the night or,God forbid, hung over tomorrow morning. I’m looking forward to breakfast and move-in day way too much for that.
I’m looking forward to everything waiting for us in the future.
As midnight approaches, we move to the window to watch the city celebrate far below. Anthony wraps his arms around me, and I lean back against his chest, struck all over again by how much he feels like home.
“Ten seconds,” he murmurs in my ear. “Do you have your resolution ready?”
“I do,” I say, gazing at him over my shoulder.
“Tell me,” he murmurs.
The countdown begins, voices rising around us, but we’re in our own world. I turn in his arms, wanting to see his face when the year changes.
“I’m going to keep being fearless,” I say. “And keep falling madly in love with you.”