I pray we can get past my stupid comment. Just enjoy the time we have left together. Having faced so much abuse and death over the years, it makes time spent feel precious. It hurts my soul when good times are scarred by poor words. I wish I’d kept my mouth shut.
***
Preparations for tonight’s street party are well underway. From our hotel room, we can look straight down onto the main street, where crews are testing lights and sound. Tonight, thousands of people will pack that space, dancing, drinking, flinging their arms around each other as they bring in a new decade.
I’ve never seen the Edinburgh Street Party in person. Lance swears it’s huge. Televised. Iconic. The line-up is brilliant—pop stars, bands, traditional music. It should be everything I love.
My excitement is bittersweet.
I’m starting the new year with the most amazing man I’ve ever known… and I already know I’m going to have to leave him. The ironic truth is that my happiness will be short lived. That what I’ve been searching for was delivered in the wrong package, one I must return to sender.
At eight o’clock, we head down into the throng. The street is already rammed. We wander, hand in hand, until we find food stalls and tuck into steaming plates of haggis, neeps, and tatties. Considering what’s in it, it’s surprisingly tasty.
Even in my warmest jacket, the cold slices straight through me. My cheeks burn red, lips numb from the icy wind.
A ceilidh band starts up, and the crowd shifts, clearing space. Without warning, Lance grabs my hand and drags me into the forming sets.
“I don’t know what to do,” I yell, but he just laughs. Sweeping me along like he has every time I’ve became unsure of anything since we met.
We stand in two lines facing each other, men on one side, women on the other. Fiddles screech to life, drums pound, and everyone springs into motion. We move forward and back, clap, spin, weave in and out of other couples. It’s chaos, but joyful chaos.
At the end of each round, the top couple reels down the center and back up again, spinning like their lives depend on it. With each turn, we move closer to the top of the set.
After three rounds, it’s our chance.
Lance grabs me, and we jig down the line, spinning and laughing, hands slipping on each other’s coats. People flash by in a blur of tartan and wool and flushed cheeks. The icy, heavy breaths drowned out by the tune. Everyone is laughing. Brilliant white teeth shining from all directions.
The announcer’s voice booms over the speakers. “This is your ten-minute warning for the countdown to the bells. Please find those you wish to bring in the new year with.”
The music stops. The crowd bunches up again, people finding their people. Lance wraps himself around me from behind, and together, we stare up at the castle, floodlit and magnificent on its rock.
The countdown begins.
“10… 9… 8…”
His arms tighten.
“7… 6… 5…”
My throat goes tight.
“4… 3… 2… 1…”
“HAPPY NEW YEAR!”
The sky explodes. Color bursts above the castle, fireworks cascading down over the rooftops. Gold, red, green—sparks raining in time with the music. People scream, cheer, kiss each other, wishing strangers on either side all the best.
Lance turns me in his arms. I look up into the softest eyes that have ever gazed at me.
He leans down and kisses me, long and sure, like there’s no one else in the world.
“Happy 2020, Katie Clark,” he says against my mouth. “You’re the best thing that’s happened to me this year. I’m in love with you. Stay with me. Always. We’re meant to be together.”
Emotion strangles my windpipe. I clutch at his coat, burying my face in his chest as tears spill down my cheeks.
I don’t want to let him go. Ever.
“I love you too,” I whisper into his jacket, voice stolen by the noise, the fireworks and the crowd.