Chapter 90

“A toast,” he suggested.

We’d celebrated the real start of 2019 together on the phone just a couple weeks earlier. For our second go round, we made our “out with the old and in with the new” salute with paper cups.

“Clink,” Patrick supplied the sound.

We guzzled water collected from the fountain just outside the bathrooms, pretending it was the finest champagne, there in our birthday suits and bowties, and our torn-up candy wrappers made the perfect confetti. This time, I sang, “Auld Lang Syne,” of course, vowing to forget the bad stuff in my life and concentrate on the good.

“From this moment on, it’s all about how lucky I’ve suddenly gotten, and how wonderful you are.”

“Ditto. Can I make that sound more romantic?” He thought a moment. “Ditto, mi amor. My Italian accent is as good as my singing, no?”