The Starlight Motel

Chapter Twenty-Two

Dane and Kada stared at each other. Too much ease could send a man off the deep end, but too much work could drown him. He had a plan to balance his needs, but he needed the balls to execute it. A shooting star wouldn’t hurt.

“This Will Be Our Year” by The Zombies played from the pool. The song’s open-hearted positivity and sprightly piano line drove the song, but the positivity meant more because of how the song hinted at darker times without dwelling on them. He questioned his role in the valley at the same time he pursued it. Kada fought for her chance to shine. If the couple at the heart of the song earned their happiness, maybe he and Kada could, too.

The song’s melody wove through the palms and surrounded him and Kada. Even though holiday music drove him crazy, the song was a classic, and he could unwind enough to listen to 1960s rock stars sing about hope. When he followed the melody, his heart warmed because he respected the optimism that fueled holiday wishes. Every time he planted a seed, he propagated the same hope for a brighter future.

Backing Kada against the mural, he rested one palm against a blank section of wall, spread his fingers against the stucco, and chose his words.

She turned her head toward the music coming from the pool and parted her lips.

“I like this song,” he said. “It’s better than most.”

She blew out her lips and smiled. “Great.”

So much for eloquence. He wanted to lean in and kiss her, but he knew the next kiss might be his last. He feared squandering it without making his final stand. Her spotlight created a halo and illuminated the mural, but his shoulders cast a comforting shadow. If neither party moved, they could stay cocooned in the soft, jazz-soaked darkness for the rest of their lives.

She raised her eyebrows.

Her challenge spurred him to action, and he wet his lips. He wanted to find a way to be together. The options spun through his mind like the dial on a safe, but he couldn’t find the right combination. The probability of solving the problem himself was so slim that he considered laying himself at her feet and hoping for the best.

She touched her lips to his.

Never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, he leaned into the kiss and stopped thinking of equines. Her lips, soft and yielding in the past, claimed his lips with a ferocity that gave him hope. A woman who kissed a man like that wasn’t about to knee a man in the crotch and send him packing. Was she?

Closing his eyes, he marveled at how perfect being with her felt. Whether they were head-to-head solving mundane problems, hiking up hillsides, or sitting down to family dinners full of banter and open conversation, being with her felt right.

She pulled back and swallowed.

Kada had something to say. He hoped like hell he would like her next words. Keeping his palm against the wall, he prayed denial could stop time. Lonely didn’t begin to describe his current state. How was he supposed to go back to running the farm while the sun shone in Kada’s eyes? He might not like her words, but he wanted more of her kisses. “You surprise me.”

A slight smile graced her lips. “You rode onto my property like a cowboy.”

He tipped up her chin. “And if all I wanted was a roll in the hay and a long good-bye?”

She dropped her chin and kissed his fingers. “You might have to fix the fence, but I’d be on board. Too bad life isn’t simple, black or white.” She turned away and closed her eyes. “I shouldn’t have kissed you again. I already told you good-bye, but you smell so good. It’s criminal.”

He laughed. “I’m glad you kissed me, but I also thought you might slap me.”

Eyes closed, she smiled.

As long as she didn’t cry, he could do this. He cleared his throat. “Kada, I don’t want work to come between us. If your folks can adjust their lives, we can, too. You want to elope? If you’ll have me, then I’m yours.”

Jerking to center, she violently shook her head.

He laughed. “Better yet, give me conditions. Tell me what you need to give this relationship a chance. I don’t always have to lead.”

She tilted her head.

He doubted he would ever feel this way about someone again. Fear and anticipation slowed his heartbeat. If he couldn’t meet her conditions, he would sink into his work, but he had to try to make it work.

“Every other weekend,” she said. “But I don’t have a car, and Pops’ truck won’t make the drive to Los Angeles. And what about when I travel? I can’t put that burden on you.”

Her first condition diffused his worry. He had wrestled more-stubborn problems at the local rodeo. If money could meet her conditions, consider them met. “I’ll buy a plane.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Pilot’s license. Hitchhike.”

“Dane Palmer! I thought we were being serious.”

Pulling back his arm, he stepped to the side, leaned against the wall at her side, and turned his head to face her. The spotlight was near-blinding, but as long as she held his gaze, he would hold his breath and hear her conditions.

“You live with your parents.” She pursed her lips. “Like, really live with them.”

“True.” Patience had never been his virtue. Stepping off the wall, he turned the light into the palms. The resulting shadows left intimacy, but enough light to read her expressions. “Your parents are about to move to the Starlight Motel, and unless I’m mistaken, we’ll have four chaperones.”

She worked her jaw. “Fair enough.”

Reclaiming his place at her side, he pondered his words. “What’s really eating at you, Kada Ritchie? Your beauty and your strength drew me right away, but watching you manage this motel and manage me…”

She bumped her shoulder against his.

He would take any contact he could get. “…made me wish I’d met you a year ago. I wish I’d had the time to woo you, find out what makes you the happiest, and listen to your fears. When I hear you talk about why this thing between us can’t work, I hear fear. I don’t know how to abate that fear unless you tell me what you need. Every other weekend? Done. What else?”

The silence stretched so long that he wondered if he should take a hint.

“I want you to pick up a hobby that’s creative and difficult. How can you understand me if you’ve never experienced the vulnerability that comes from making art? I don’t know if I can plant a field of grapes, but I’ll try to learn about your life, too. I want to understand the emotions behind your words. If that means I’m riding shotgun while you troubleshoot slugs, I want to be there.”

Slugs? He took a steadying breath. She could tail him through the fields until the sun went down, but painting would be his biggest failure. The plane seemed like a much better deal. “You want me to paint? Like, we’re talking grade school art. Stick figures and flat little ponies riding into the two-dimensional sunset.”

“It’s not a competition.”

“Thank goodness. You’ll take one look at my art and laugh your butt back to Los Angeles.”

She stroked his cheek. “I doubt it.”

Turning, he pressed a kiss against her palm. “That’s all you want? Time and art? I’ll recreate the entire Sistine Chapel. Don’t let this kiss be a good-bye kiss.”

Dropping her hand, she sighed. “Behind that handsome fa?ade, you’re a perfectionist. You might have learned to hide the trait, but I’m guessing that’s why your fields thrive, and you never take risks. If you spend hours trying to paint an apple, you’ll hate the outcome.”

“No wonder nobody invites me to parties,” he said.

She toyed with his shirt collar. “If you don’t want to paint, pick up a guitar or write a story. I want you to glimpse the vulnerability and the joy that comes from creating art. Isn’t that why you like me?” She tilted her head and chewed her bottom lip. “We’re worlds apart.”

“I like you because you’re beautiful, and you don’t take anybody’s sass.”

She smiled. “Close enough.”

He cupped her elbows. “If you’ll teach me, I’ll paint.”

“Really?” she asked.

For an instant, he felt hopeful and expectant, like the moment he first tasted her lips, but he didn’t know how to express himself without scaring off her interest. When the silence stretched on, he held his breath and feared a second, more definite shutdown.

“And when you’re so mad you want to throw the brush because your apple looks like a diseased kumquat?” she asked.

He worked his jaw. He could deal with ineptitude. She wanted to see progress. Playing catch-up was never his style. He would choose an artistic hobby she hadn’t mastered. “Maybe I’ll pick up the guitar. I already have the calluses.”

She smiled. “And serenade me?”

“Any song you like.”

Her smile faded. “Except Christmas carols.”

Running a hand through his hair, he sighed. “You said I had to try, but you didn’t say I had to enjoy the process.”

“Dane…”

He held up a hand. “You’re right. I am a perfectionist. I understand the variables for farming. Art?” He exhaled. “It depends on me. My hands shake. My voice sounds like crushed gravel. But for you? I’ll try. Should we start with ‘Jingle Bells’?”

“Okay,” she whispered the commitment. “But you don’t have to sing.”

Relief rushed through his system, and he dropped his forehead to hers. “Okay? What else?”

“Dane, there’s nothing else. I need a little bit of freedom, a little bit of vulnerability, and a lot of your kisses. You’re awake in the middle of the night because you think you’re stressed, but what if you need more? What if hardcore isn’t enough? Maybe you need me.”

He pulled her into his arms. Holding her felt so good, he wanted to tighten his grasp and never release her. Dust and her delicate shampoo mingled into a sweet, earthy scent that smelled better than the desert after a rainstorm. “I definitely need you.”

“WOOOooooo.”A dog howled. The long, lonely sound split the night.

Someone cut the music by the pool.

“Is that Lucky?” he asked.

She pulled away. “I don’t know. I haven’t known her long enough to learn her sounds. I was on my way to check on her when I got distracted.”

“The best distraction,” he said.

She laid a hand against the mural.

The sound came again, and the dog’s wail held hints of pain and alarm.

He’d heard animals signal cornered game, alarm, and danger, but he’d never heard a dog make the lonely, mourning note splitting the night sky. “It’s coming from the other side of the motel.”

“Gustavo has Esmeralda. Maybe she tangled herself in something.” Looking back and forth between her guests and her casita , she stalled in the middle of the path.

“I’ll check on Gustavo,” he said. “You check on Lucky.”

Relief washed over her features. Nodding, she turned toward her casita .

He caught her hand. Her final condition might make or break his life. “Kada, what’s the final thing?”

Guests filtered away from the pool.

“Maybe it’s the chupacabra ,” a guest said.

A second guest laughed. “More likely a javelina.”

Their fading chatter interrupted the moment of solitude he shared with Kada.

She looked at their joined hands. “I need…”

He held his breath.

“What’s that awful sound?” Missy Robert asked.

He bit his cheeks to stop himself from saying something he might regret. Stepping in front of Kada, he faced the realtor. “What sound? I hear music. Maybe a car backfired on the highway. Is that what you heard?”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “The sound I heard was like a cheap violin.”

He cocked his head. “Can you give me a demonstration?”

Missy peered around his shoulder.

He followed her gaze.

Kada had fled.

For an instant, he felt like joining the animal’s lonely, mourning song. Instead of making a spectacle, he escorted Missy back to the pool, scanned the party, and wondered where he would find Gustavo and his howling canine. From the grill, alluring smoke wafted between hungry guests. A few kids played tag. Lights swayed overhead, floats drifted across the pool’s surface, and two intrepid guests kicked off their shoes and dangled their legs in the water.

The chill, evening air made him think about his leather jacket. His long-sleeve shirt felt warm enough, but he could keep the chill from bothering Kada. She didn’t need his help.

Walking to the pool’s edge, he looked into the sparkling turquoise waters and wondered if everyone who glimpsed him saw the same man Kada described. He took risks, but they were calculated risks. Four generations of hard-fought success bred economic conservatism into his bones, but he didn’t have to be a stick in the mud.

“I hope you’re not planning to jump,” Gustavo said.

He shifted away from the pool coping and turned. “Jump?”

“It’s too late to swim. We’d all stop and watch you flounder about like a disoriented college student wearing floaties.”

Snorting, he scanned the assembly. He was hardly the life of the party. “Noted. Where’s your yodeling dog?”

“I brought her back to the casita . She’s sensitive. Her sense of smell is so subtle she notices the slightest changes in a human’s scent. She’s shown interest in more than one person who went to the doctor and caught a disease before it spread.”

“Impressive,” he said, “but her nose is a little off. Kada’s dog isn’t sick. She’s pregnant and probably delivering as we speak.”

“Ah, that explains Esmeralda’s reaction.” He stroked his chin. “She’s empathetic, too.”

He bet Esmeralda would empathetically chomp a dropped hamburger, but he stopped short of undermining Gustavo’s praise. He had heard of dogs that could detect cancer, malaria, and Parkinson’s disease. If Gustavo said the dog responded to distress, then he believed him. Stepping back from the pool coping, he kept his arms crossed over his chest. “Well, give her some love and tell her Lucky will be okay.”

“Will you be okay?”

He looked up. “Excuse me?”

“For a man who lives up the road, you’ve been at the motel a lot in the last forty-eight hours.” He raised his eyebrows. “Now, I’ve met your mother and your father. This might be a party, but it isn’t a celebration. Kada rejected you, eh?”

“Not exactly.” He needed an escape, and he needed one fast. “She told me to consider new experiences’’—he watched two kids sit to do paper crafts with Inés —“like art. Like I’m a student.”

Gustavo grinned and clapped his back. “First, the art galleries, and then, the chapel. You’re toast, man. Come have a drink.”

He didn’t want to ruin the festivities with his uncertainties. If the kids wanted to festoon the pool fencing with bouncy balloons, dangling streamers, and glittered numbers, their joy cost him nothing. He could retreat and ponder Kada’s final request, but he had hope. He followed Gustavo to the poolside bar and picked up a steaming mug. Expecting coffee, he took a deep sip and sputtered on spiced hot chocolate. “I thought this damn holiday ended.”

Dropping a sugar cube into his mug, Gustavo slapped his back. “Take a good, long sip. Don’t worry, the sugar balances the cinnamon.”

He doubted a truckload of irrigation water could balance the cinnamon. Cupping the mug in both hands, he raised it a second time. Gustavo was right. The sweetness went down smoothly and conjured up memories of childhood celebrations.

Mom always went all out. Snow globes, illuminated villages, and tiny, fluffy specs of fake snow had decorated the farmhouse living room. Then, like a Grinch, he packed away her treasures. Before he turned into such an ass, he decorated a cactus, named it Mr. Pokey, and had enhanced the festive scene. Kada made him want life’s eccentric pleasures. As a child, he remembered closing his eyes and wishing for snow, Santa Claus, and a pellet gun. Now, he wished for her. “I can’t take it. Give me something else.”

Gustavo handed him a glass of Ranch Water.

The three-ingredient cocktail required tequila, lime juice, and sparkling mineral water. He let the drink’s simplicity wash away the fussy hot chocolate.

As his father’s hand and practicalities took hold, he let go of his fantasies and focused on farming, but what harm came from holiday celebrations? He didn’t put much stock in religion. People wanted to gather during the darkest part of the year and celebrate with light and sweets. He could buy into their optimism. The other half of the year, they could bite into a sweet, red bell paper and fuel his happiness.

Looking around the pool, he counted more than twenty people reveling under the stars, sharing a meal, and counting down the hours until midnight. Half the partygoers might make their goal, but their smiles suggested the party fulfilled their needs. Given another twenty minutes of revelry, he would be two glasses into the Ranch Water and forget his regrets.

He told Kada he wasn’t opposed to the holidays, but maybe he needed to be open to them. If people behaved badly most of the year, their selfishness and ineptitude had deep root causes, but the guests at the Starlight Motel offered real smiles. He could trip through another decade, shunning life’s small moments of joy, but Kada opened his eyes to the beauty surrounding him. No matter how trivial a guest’s problem, she believed she could find a solution.

Faced with such optimism, he could double-down on fizzy stubbornness, or he could choke down a peppermint and admit he enjoyed the na?ve, sweet indulgence. If he stuck around long enough, then Kada would probably find him a birthday cake. He suspected she had better things to do.

“Life’s good, isn’t it?” Gustavo asked.

He smiled. “It’s good, man.”

Gustavo slapped his back.

Greeting his parents, he felt lighter and better able to navigate life’s challenges with hope in his heart. Every year, the holidays would return. Whether he met them flush with success or with a humble heart depended entirely on him. Whatever Kada’s third condition, he would meet it.

On the way back to the casita , he recounted Kada’s requirements. He could lean on Walter’s expertise and carve out the visits she requested. He could take up art. As long as he could stomach her feedback on his humble creations, he would lay bare his soul and try his best to make something out of nothing. Given a proper chance, he thought he could spend the rest of his life with her, and he needed her to outline the missing puzzle piece. Opening the garden gate, he listened to the quiet evening, walked up the worn steps, and softly knocked on the door.

“Come in,” Kada said.

Stepping inside the brightly lit casita , he found her ensconced between two half-height bookshelves.

Lucky lay on an old quilt, licking a newborn, black puppy.

Tears brightened Kada’s eyes.

Dropping to a crouch outside the makeshift pen, he smiled. “One down. It’s a sweet little thing.”

“Isn’t it?” Kada clasped her hands to her chest. “I’m trying my hardest to watch, but keeping my hands to myself is nearly impossible.”

Dropping to his backside, he stretched out his legs, pulled her against his chest, and wrapped his arms around her middle. “I’ll keep you from interfering.”

She leaned against him and made a soft, contented hum.

He could spend his life holding her in his arms.

“I’m glad you’re here. The pamphlet said having another person around to help keep the puppies warm or provide assistance is a good idea. If things go south, we can call the vet.”

He rubbed his jaw against her hair. Having acquainted himself with most veterinarians in the Coachella Valley, he doubted anyone else in the valley would come to the Starlight Motel on New Year’s Eve. For better or for worse, he and Kada were scrubbing in for Lucky’s delivery. He adjusted his seat. “She looks like she’s handling everything. Your quilt, on the other hand, might never be the same.”

“That’s fine. What’s a quilt against new life?”

Turning her in his arms, he considered his words. “If you hadn’t chosen printmaking and murals, what kind of art would you have studied?”

She leaned her head against his shoulder. “Printmaking doesn’t receive the same public admiration like painting or sculpting, but it holds a vital place in art history. Printmakers produced some of the most recognizable artistic images in history. The Barack Obama HOPE poster. The Great Wave off Kanagawa. Andy Warhol’s Marilyn Diptych . The inspiration library runs deep. When students participate in that process, they see themselves as part of the world.”

“And that’s what you want? Recognition?”

Closing her eyes, she shook her head. “I want people to know how important they are to their communities. They have a place in their neighborhoods. We all have a place. I think I can be part of that place.”

From his earliest memories, he knew where he belonged. Ambiguity would tug at his consciousness like an itch he could never scratch. Her desire to help people celebrate their communities matched the way she ran the motel like a joyful melting pot. He wondered if she felt like an outsider always looking in. He worked his jaw. “And where’s your place?”

She wet her lips. “My parents poured so much love into me. Pops loved me. The motel guests trusted me. I feel at home anywhere I go. I have more than any person should have. And yet?” She closed her eyes. “Sometimes, I don’t know where I belong.”

He tightened his grip.

Drawing a deep breath, she straightened and threaded her fingers through her hair. “Maybe I belong with you.”

“Glad we settled that.” Standing, he offered her a hand. “Let’s enjoy the party.”

Sitting on the floor, she looked up and smiled, but her expression stopped short of lightening her gaze.

He bent his knees to help lift her and wished a confident smile could soothe over every rough patch.

Taking his hand, she flexed her muscles and stood. “Maybe I don’t belong anywhere.”

“You do.” Wrapping an arm around her, he held on tight. “Everyone deserves a home.”

She jostled his shoulder. “How can you say that and be such a stubborn, practical, hard-headed man?”

The lady had a point, but he couldn’t quite see how his character impacted her decisions. Hadn’t she kissed him back every time? If he had to break out his glasses to make the pieces of her argument fit, he would do it. Why couldn’t he have fallen for a lawyer?

“Do you know who comes to the Starlight Motel? Modest people. Maybe they lost their way, carry a whiff of scandal, or need something quirky the mainstream hotel chains can’t provide.”

“Like pet-friendly lodging,” he said.

She nodded. “Kinda.”

Finally, he was getting somewhere. His family had status in the valley, but they weren’t political leaders or social organizers. If she needed glitz and media write-ups, then he couldn’t provide them. Palmer Farms grew the best produce in the valley, but farming wasn’t a high-status occupation. If she wanted to count him as a social misfit, then he would gladly wear the T-shirt.

Lucky moaned. Her abdominal muscles contracted and sent a wave rippling along her belly. Straining and vocalizing, she closed her eyes and delivered a second, tan puppy.

Pulling free, Kada crouched near the bookcases and held a hand to her mouth.

The sight of the stray dog giving birth brought a smile to his lips. If he could close the loop with Kada and give her what she needed, he would be happier than he had ever been.

Vigorously licking the new puppy, Lucky cleaned her offspring, tore off the placental membrane, and severed the umbilical cord.

He exhaled. Farmers couldn’t be squeamish about the circle of life. If H?nh was right, they had two puppies down and four to go.

Kada doused a cotton ball with iodine, held out her clean hand until Lucky sniffed it, and quickly scooped up the second puppy. Swabbing the puppy’s stomach with the iodine ball, she held it for a quick inspection, grinned, and settled it back near Lucky’s warmth.

Lucky nosed the puppy.

Standing, Kada shimmied in place and grinned.

Watching the good-natured dance, he realized how nervous Kada must be to help Lucky deliver her puppies with nothing for guidance but an Internet connection and a creased pamphlet. His concerns about power and riches had little bearing on her happiness. She wanted to help struggling students, weary travelers, lost dogs, and quarrelsome farmers. He stepped back. Maybe he didn’t deserve her attention.

Turning, she clapped her hands and interlaced her fingers. “What should we name them? Rocket? Sparky?” Eyes bright, she spun in a circle. “This is how people end up keeping the whole litter, isn’t it? You fall in love at first sight, and you can’t ever talk yourself down from the high. How about Jack?”

Working his jaw, he knew he had fallen but didn’t deserve her dedication. What kind of fool thought he could rearrange a schedule and lock up her love? “How much time between the first two puppies?”

“About an hour,” she said.

“Let’s get dinner. I heard someone made hamburgers. I’m sure Benito keeps veggies burgers stocked. In forty-five minutes, we’ll come back and check on Lucky and her pups. She and the two littermates look like they’re doing fine.”

Nodding, she ran into the bathroom and washed her hands.

The water ran and splashed in the sink, and he dropped to one knee. Watching Lucky lick and nudge the pups, he smiled. “She’ll do great things.”

Lucky raised her head.

“She’ll comfort and inspire people who deserve her attention.”

The second puppy yawned.

“She’ll probably spoil all of you rotten and immortalize you in paint.”

Tilting her head, Lucky stared.

He stood. “You deserve it.”

Kada bounded back down the hallway. Full of smiles, she took his arm and pulled him toward the door.

But for the first time since he met her, he faked a smile and wondered how quickly he could excuse himself. If he stayed, he would muck up her life with a deal he didn’t deserve.

With a bounce in her step, she pulled him toward the party. “I’m starving. Have you eaten?”

“I had some hot chocolate,” he said.

“Oh, was it good?”

He squeezed her hand. “Surprisingly good. Your family puts out a welcoming spread.”

She winked. “It runs in our genes.”

And bare-bones practicality ran in his genes. Placing a hand at the small of her back, he fell behind her and urged her toward the party.

Skirting the palms, she stepped up to the blazing pink firepit and held out her palms.

Gustavo spotted her and walked, trailing Esmeralda on a leash. “How are the puppies?”

“The puppies?” she asked.

“Dane said they’re coming.”

She exhaled, turned back to Gustavo, and held up two fingers. “So far, so good.”

Gustavo pumped a fist into the air.

Esmeralda yipped her approval.

Turning, Gustavo cupped his hands around his mouth. “Two puppies!”

The crowd processed the news, exchanged information with their neighbors, and cheered. The announcement pulled them from discrete groups and anchored their attention on Kada.

Dropping his head, Dane tried not to let her excitement and satisfaction lull him into a false sense of security. She laid out two conditions, but he doubted the third required tweaking logistics or taking up a new hobby. “You might want to say something.”

She turned her head. “About the puppies? The staffing challenges? How I sweated through my shirt because I was so scared Lucky would have a problem, and I would fail her? Don’t get too close. I probably reek of smoke and body odor.”

“You smell just fine.” He fisted his hands at his sides. He wanted to wrap his arms around her and protect her, but she didn’t need his protection. She was as fierce and determined as any man or woman he had ever met. “I meant the fireworks. The whole holiday thing. I guess you could ignore it. It’s not their first holiday season, right?”

She swatted his chest.

Catching her hand for an instant, he then dropped it. Side lit by the blazing fire, he’d never seen her look so beautiful and untouchable. “Say whatever feels right.”

“Okay.” Pulling over a chair, she stood on the seat and cleared her throat. “Thank you all for coming outside to celebrate New Year’s Eve with me, my family, and my neighbors.”

He stepped back into the crowd forming around her.

“When I ordered fireworks, I had no idea how I would get them set up or complete my first holiday season as motel manager. I should have realized I ordered too much.”

The crowd laughed.

“Thanks to my family and the Palmer family, we’re ready for a show!”

Mack and Sue’s kids cheered.

“A few pink glass balls won’t make the pool shine, but your hopes for the coming year, key chains, origami, and crafts will do the trick. Whatever you have handy, find a loop of ribbon and add your piece to the pool fencing. Paris might have its love locks, but we have the Starlight Motel.” She cleared her throat. “If you want your trinkets back, please, oh, please, write your name and casita on the back of your contribution.”

Someone laughed.

“Every New Year’s Eve, my grandfather and the motel guests stayed up until midnight and ushered in the New Year with a poolside celebration. Depending on the guests, some nights they had a guitar, and some nights they had an old record player. At the stroke of midnight, Pops sang ‘Auld Lang Syne,’ and the crowd welcomed a new beginning. If you can make it until midnight, know that I’ll be here.”

“So will I,” Chris Nicholson said. “I’ll outlast all of you!”

Kada saluted him.

Dane stepped farther back and bumped into his father.

“Time to go?” Dad asked.

Nodding, he stood beside his old man. They had the same posture and the same outlook on life, but Dad found Mom. Dane would have to keep looking for true love and someone to cherish beyond the glow of the holiday season.

“More than you can handle?”

He shook his head. “More than I deserve.”

“Well, I find that hard to believe. You heard the lady. She wants hopes and promises. What do you have to contribute?”

“My belt buckle?”

Dad laughed. “It’s not that kind of show.”

He would find a scrap of paper in the reception area, write out his wishes for a fruitful year, and hope when she found it, the message would brighten her day. No matter what the New Year brought, they would find a way to be friends.