A moment for you
When a blackout hits on New Year’s Eve, Ariana is determined not to miss the fireworks ringing in 2020…and stumbles across a fresh chance at love
“Stay with us here on KB-NYC for the Times Square Ball Drop!” Ariana Owen plunked her chilled prosecco down on the coffee table, tucked her feet under her Pj-clad bottom and gazed at the clock on the TV.
With a sigh, she tried to tune out the memory of the call she’d gotten from her sister, Sarah, six hours ago. “Alone again on New Year’s Eve? Ari, you are such a loser.”
In mere minutes, it was going to be a new year full of possibilities. In fact, things were already looking up: She’d taken the leap and moved from her small hometown in Wales to New York City, and landed a job as an apartment-sitter.
The fairy lights on the red brick facades opposite hers winked through the falling snow as she eyed the bottle of prosecco and eased off the cork. The loud pop of the cork was followed by another pop.
Ariana blinked as her eyes adjusted to the darkness. And silence…apart from the loud cursing coming from the apartment next door.
That would be “Mr. Hot-bod,” the guy she’d spotted in the hallway a few times, who clearly had a revolving door policy with dating—if the stream of beautiful women going in and out of his apartment was anything to go by. Weird, she would have thought he’d be out tonight with one of his ladies. But Mr. Hot-bod’s love life wasn’t important right now: There was a blackout and she was going to miss the countdown—very bad luck.
She scrambled off the sofa. She didn’t want another crummy year. Feeling her way through the shadows, she dragged on her coat. The building had a terrace where she might be able to see the fireworks.
She climbed onto the fire escape, gripping the prosecco as she shimmied past Mr. HotBod’s window. A rap on the glass almost made her drop the bottle. She spotted the puzzled frown on his handsome face even in the half-light. He shoved open his window. “Are you trying to get yourself killed?” he asked, in a thick-as-molasses Southern accent.
Her heart did a giddy two-step.
“Hunter’s heart skipped a beat at the sight of his beautiful neighbor”
“No…i’m going to watch the fireworks. My TV is out, and I don’t want to miss them. It’s bad luck.”
“It’s worse luck to break your neck, sugar,” he said.
Hunter Carson’s heart skipped a beat at the sight of his beautiful neighbor. Where was her accent from? Surely not Manhattan.
Was she drunk? She had to be if she was climbing the fire escape in the snow. But with snowflakes fluttering onto her coat and her cheeks rosier than a Georgia peach, his spirit of adventure kicked in. The same spirit that had brought him to NYC, landing him a dream job photographing models…but no luck in love.
He’d wanted to talk to this girl for two weeks, but she’d exuded get-lost vibes, and he was not the pushy type. But here was an opportunity he wasn’t going to miss.
“Well, you’re not going up there alone,” he heard himself say. “I love fireworks.”
Grabbing his camera, they climbed the frozen ladder together to the roof garden, which afforded an incredible view across the East River. “It’s freezing,” Ari muttered.
“Hey, this was your brilliant idea,” he said, delighted when she laughed. “Where are you from?” he asked, lifting his camera and clicking off shots of her in the sprinkle of lights from the neighboring block. “Wales…did you just take my picture?” “Sure…i’m a photographer. If I see beauty, it’s my job to put it on film.” He hoped he didn’t sound cheesy. But it was God’s honest truth: She captivated him. “Beauty?” she asked.
He dropped the camera. “Yeah.” He glanced at his watch. Was he coming on too strong? He didn’t want to screw this up. “Five seconds till midnight.”
“I can’t wait!” she smiled, and he knew he hadn’t screwed up. The bubble of anticipation burst in his bloodstream as the fireworks exploded. “I hope this year’s better than the last,” she whispered, her face a riot of color. It already is, sugar, Hunter thought.