On the occasion of New Year’s, a new pyrotechnics exhibit had opened—the fireworks stole the spotlight—and I wouldn’t miss it for the world.
I spread out my picnic basket, the red-and-white tablecloth, the goodie bags, and settled onto the trusty mat, nestling into the prickly grass.
A microphone blared through the crowd, announcing the show and urging everyone to take their seats.
“I’ll take a mojito,” I said to a passing waiter.
“In a zesty mood?” he asked, amused.
I turned to find Alex kneeling beside me, uninvited and exceptionally comfortable.
“No,” I said. “It’s just my go-to.”
“What happened to new year, new me?”
“That’s the bull corporate wants you to believe,” I dropped.
The night brewed with anticipation. I poured the drinks, intent on braving it with liquid courage.
“Moving on. Pick your poison.”
“So you’re a hard-liquor guy. Who would’ve thought?”
He clinked his glass against mine.
Apart from work, I realised I hadn’t really interacted with him like this—undiplomatic, almost normal. It was oddly riveting.
“I swear to God,” I muttered, “my tolerance is better than this.”
“Is this against work policy, Sarah,” he prodded, “or should I stick to ma’am?”
“Not at all,” I said, reluctantly. “Sarah is fine.”
“If you say so.” He breathed, alcohol smoothing over his words. “This your typical holiday scene?”
“You’d be surprised. The last time I landed here, I was eight.”
I raised a brow. “Is crashing your coworker’s New Year hideouts your thing?”
“Lucky for you,” he said confidently, “this is a first.”
Confused, but resolved to keep my cool, I replied breezily,
“I’ll be damned. So—what are your New Year plans?”
“Yeah,” I scoffed. “Feed that to our boss and he’ll spit it right out.”
“Must you always steer things back to work?” There was a hint of irritation now.
“What else is there to talk about?”
“Tell you what,” he said. “Introduce yourself like you’re applying for a job.”
“And you’re the interviewer?”
“Hell no. I have more experience. Anyway, that won’t be necessary.”
I reached for the bottle.
“So you succeed in muddling your raw, unfiltered thoughts?”
“You conveniently left out how you spend the holidays,” I countered. “Aren’t your loved ones waiting?”
“Don’t be a bore, darling.” He waved it off.“They’re exactly what I’m here to avoid.”
“I’ve found a gap in your résumé,” I stated. “Care to elaborate?”
“Uh-uh. I’m the one hiring.”
“You’re fired,” I announced.
“You didn’t even finish the interview.”
“It’s exhausting—being treated like a coworker when I’m off duty. I call it work–life free balance.”
A pinch of guilt hit me for distancing him.
“My worth is measured on a scale of productivity, if that helps.”
He paused, choosing his next words carefully.
He polished off the scotch with practiced ease.
“What’s gotten into you tonight?”
“The holiday spirit,” he said, then winked. “Or the spirit.”
“Get a load of this—Alex Stone cares about a new date on the calendar.”
“Does tomorrow work for you?”
“Something about dates,” he rambled. “We’ll be booked on January first.”
“I’m not into dating,” I said flatly.
“There goes your New Year’s resolution.”
The chants rose—signalling the high point of the night, a cacophony of partygoers counting down.
I seized the moment, dragging him by the collar, my hands sliding up his neck as I kissed him.
His grip firmed at my waist.
The tang dissolved on my tongue as their smoky cheers droned into background noise. I focused on the rouse in my throat as the fireworks crackled overhead.
I made a note that this would be the last impulsive decision of 2025.
