New Year's Resolutions
Page 19
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“...then he changed his mind and began backing up towards the guy, who’s still running along with his duffel bag.” Choking with laughter, Jerry’s story cut off abruptly. He slapped the table beside him, enjoying the titters of various guests around him.
Henry took another sip from his glass, then glanced around at the faces of his fellow guests. A few were wandering near the platform set up for the band, a jazz orchestra fronted by an elaborate sign with their name. A few feet away, clusters of guests in conversation, the sound of laughter in their voices.
Then he saw her. The same honey-colored hair, the pale blue against her skin. The same upturned expression of focus as she listened to someone else talk. The girl from the opera.
He felt his heart skip a beat. It was too much of a coincidence for it to be real. But it was the same girl, no possibility of mistake. Not with the same feeling of attraction tingling through his spine again.
He was still gazing at her when the band struck up their next song. Billie Holiday’s arrangement of “I’ll Be Seeing You” built slowly around them as she caught his eye.
At that moment, she froze, staring back at him with equal interest. In her eyes, he read a mixture of surprise and recognition. She moved towards him as he slipped past Jerry and his crowd of admirers.
“Henry!” He recognized the voice of Celia Detmark behind him. She was swooping towards him in an apricot caftan, a glass tethered between two fingers. “You shouldn’t be standing alone here when I have the perfect someone for you to meet–”
“I was actually planning–” he began, as Celia clung to his arm and scanned the room for a guest to pair him with.
Not this time. If there was ever a moment to escape fate, to thwart the possibility of losing sight of this girl, now was that moment. Even the well-intended gestures of his hostess could not pry him away from this chance. Just a few feet away, the girl was still gazing at him with a look of intense interest on her face.
“If you’ll excuse me for a moment,” he said, “I have a friend over there.” Before she could protest, he slipped past her and moved towards the girl in the blue wrap.
Standing before her, it was as if they were posed for a dance, they were close enough to touch each other’s faces if they desired, to read each other's eyes like an open book holding a thousand questions and possibilities.
“Hi,” said Henry. She smiled.
“Hello,” she answered. “Have I–I’ve seen you before somewhere. Haven't I?”
“I think so,” he answered. "That is, I know I've seen you." He held out his hand. “Henry.”
“Abigail,” she answered, taking his fingers. He felt a tingle pass through his arm as they touched, as if a connection was forged somewhere beyond their sight.
There were a thousand things he could have said. About the band and the song and the possibility of where they crossed paths before now. They were all on the tip of his tongue as he gazed into her eyes, seeing the same attraction he felt at first glance.
The band’s song drew to a sudden close, the sentimental strains of the jazz song dying away without warning, making them both turn their heads in the direction of the band.
“Attention, everybody,” said the lead singer, cradling the microphone with one of her bejeweled hands, “It’s ten seconds to midnight, so get ready to smooch that special someone as the clock strikes twelve!” A chorus of cheers followed this announcement, the sound of guests counting down the seconds.
Henry turned towards her again, their eyes meeting as before. As the hour struck, the band played a lively peal of horns and percussion which drifted into an upbeat version of "Auld Lang Syne" as a shower of confetti and balloons fell from the nets overhead. A glittery cloud of silver and pink, drifting over the guests like a metallic snow, clinging to Abby's honey-colored hair and the shoulders of Henry's suit.
“Happy New Year,” Henry whispered. His hand was still holding hers, unwilling to let go.
Her eyes were glowing, upturned to gaze into his as a thousand little snatches of memory flew through her mind, as if she glimpsed him in the recent moments of her past. Something in the crowd created boldness in Abigail as she closed the distance between them, her free hand reaching up to rest on his shoulder as if they were dancing. All around them were couples kissing intimately, even friends exchanging tender embraces in the passing seconds of the new year.
“We should follow their example,” she answered in a whisper, her fingers tightening their hold around his own. "It's tradition, after all. Like the song."
"Absolutely," he answered, softly. "Who doesn't love tradition?" He leaned closer as their lips met, a tentative, hesitant kiss which grew more firm as her arms intertwined around his neck, his own passing around her waist. A kiss that lasted until the last strains of “Auld Lang Syne” drew to a close.