The elevator opened onto a stylishly carpeted hallway in one of Manhattan’s premier apartment buildings. 

Rather hushed, she thought and shrugged, for a New Year’s Eve.

Her door secured, Catherine closed her eyes and leaned back.  She’d volunteered to stay late to free others with holiday plans.  The courts might follow a modified schedule during the festive season, but the preparation of pending cases, an ongoing, relentless body of work in the DA’s office, yielded to nothing even resembling a ‘modified’ timetable.    

She straightened slowly, her silent wish so heartfelt that she almost heard it … and … prayer granted, Vincent was there!  Happiness dispelled the melancholy and fatigue, and she all but flew to welcome him.

Of course, he stepped back, telling, without words, his reluctance to enter her apartment.

She ignored that, grateful for the warmth of his outstretched arms. His embrace was so … expressive.  She thrilled to him, his presence, his strength pressing, keeping them together.  She could almost feel his feelings, perhaps not as he did hers, but she knew that he cared, cared deeply, and, for now, that made her world all she needed it to be.

“I’m so pleased you’ve come tonight,” she whispered against his chest.

If those words also told, “I love you,” she was glad.

He put her away, only slightly, needing to see in her face all that he hoped, knew … feared … she felt for him.

Rather than admit what that seeing did to his emotional equilibrium, he said, “Catherine, you undoubtedly have plans this evening.  I won’t stay.  I just wanted to wish you a happy New Year.”

“I’ve no plans. None, Vincent.  I’m so glad you’ve come.  Don’t speak of leaving.  Please.  You’ve only just arrived.”  A new thought came to her.  “Have you been waiting long?”

He shook his head and confessed, “I felt your relief, at least I think that’s what it was, and assumed you were coming home.  I came to meet you.”

I could lose myself in your smile. 

And how can it be you’re not going out tonight?

He realized she was asking something.

“Suppose you enjoy the view while I make us some … what would you like?”

How could he admit he wanted her, only her, for all time, at his side?

“You don’t need to fix anything.”

That grin again, and he wanted to hold her, but she was explaining, “Hot chocolate seems appropriate.  It’s what I’m going to have.  I even bought marshmallows at the store the other day.  Can I tempt you to join me?”

Rather than try to form the word, he simply nodded.

He watched her nod in reply, though hers was smiled, and then she was gone.  Her question of tempting and joining had nearly hollowed him.  Innocent words in her usage, but they throbbed in his heart.

And how could it be she’s made no plans for tonight?

His old, normal life had become unlivable, given all that he felt for her. 

It was such a short time ago that I presented myself … here … bearing, as my outlandish reason for coming, the book we hadn’t finished reading. 

Catherine, I’ve loved you … forever … overcome with love’s need and taste, a hunger that will ever, never, wholly consume me. And now my days, enchanted with thoughts of you, pass in the composition of telling words I could never hope to communicate to you.  

He still found time to go off on his own, to relive each of their meetings and to remember every moment of their ten days together.  It was during those earliest, solitary rambles that he learned the courage to step onto this balcony that first time, breathing a living hope and possessed of a purposed daring that trusted she would, might, be glad to see him.

And she had been.  More than glad.

“Here you are,” she was saying, and he hadn’t realized she’d returned.  Offering him a bright red Christmas mug, she placed a matching plate, with a variety of cookies, before them on the low wall.

“Thank you.”  He took a sip.  “It’s perfect, Catherine.”

She knew he was aware of her feelings for him and wondered what he did with that knowing.  Someday, she hoped, he would tell her.

They were quiet for a while, though neither was distracted from the other’s nearness, not by the nighttime view nor the muffled street noises below them. 

If he wondered at her thoughts he had only to ask, she told herself.

He said no such thing to himself.

“Is there a party Below tonight?  You’re not missing it, are you?”

And what of the party, parties, you will not attend?

“There is, in the Great Hall.  As at Winterfest, Helpers are invited, and everyone brings something to add to what we can provide.  There’s music and many like to dance.  Some board games.  Sebastian, our friend, the magician, entertains the children and many of the adults.  All the candles will be extinguished for the countdown and relit to welcome the New Year with light.”

“It must be a lovely celebration.  I’m sorry you’re missing it.  Vincent, you …”

She was looking at him, about to say he should have stayed Below with his family, could go now to join them, but he turned to her in that moment and Catherine saw, knew, that he’d wanted, chosen, to be with her. 

As she’d chosen, hoped, to be with him.

Gazing at her, he stopped himself from suggesting she might, right then, take the elevator to the storage level, climb down that rusted ladder, and accompany him to the Great Hall.  As his guest.  His … Vincent thought date and inwardly cringed at his audacity.

He meant to lull his embarrassment in a swallow of cocoa but nearly coughed it all down his front.

She, without glancing his way, casually offered a napkin.  He accepted it and managed to murmur, ‘Thanks’.

A new silence settled over what had become a fragile night.  For Vincent.

For Catherine, it was the night of her dreams. 

He loves me.  He loves me and I will hold and celebrate and allow myself to feel the joy of that truth every moment from now on.  

But he was speaking, and she would contain her enthusiasm.

“Catherine, I apologize for not realizing … you must be frozen standing out here so long.  I should leave so that you can go inside.  Thank you for the … for your company.  I wish you every happiness in the New Year.”

“Vincent, you’re not staying until midnight?”

She would not hide her disappointment. 

“No, no, I can’t do that.” 

Why aren’t you going out to celebrate with friends? 

“You should go in, get warm and …”

“I’m fine.  Only my hands are cold, and I could remedy that if I stop eating these cookies.”

“I can’t think how the cookies are making your hands cold.”

“They’re why my hands are not in my pockets,” she grinned, “but these are Joe’s mother’s cookies, and they are … deadly … aren’t they?”

“That’s a complimentary turn of phrase I’ve never heard before.  I won’t use it when tasting something of William’s.  He might misunderstand and do me bodily harm.”

As he chuckled, Catherine said, “I’d like to meet him one day.”

Vincent looked away, but she heard, “I’d like you to meet …”

Retreating to their earlier conversation, she announced, “That is my last cookie.  Pockets, get ready.”

But he’d turned back and was reaching to take her hands in his.  His fingers embraced hers, warming them, warming her. 

She smiled at him.

“Thank you.”

“My pleasure.”  He couldn’t believe he’d said that, so he added, “Is it better?”

“Yes.  Much.”  A momentary pause and then a plea, “Will you see the start of the New Year with me?  Come inside?”

“Is that what you wish?”

Why aren’t you celebrating with … someone … special?

As though in answer to his question, she was saying, “Vincent, there is no one I’d rather be with as the old year ends, making way for all the possibilities of the new.  Remain and greet those … possibilities … with me.”

He smiled and squeezed her hands just that tiny bit …

And her heart heard, “At your side, I will face … and be glad of the possibilities too.”

Catherine tugged, gently, and he followed her indoors.

___________

until our new year, H

December 31, 2024