It’s New Year’s Eve, and my pathetic self is sitting cross legged, a tray of junk food sitting on the right side of the bed, the ball dropping in New York City on my TV screen.

My phone vibrates on the tray, buzzing around like an angry hornet.

I lift it up and smile, seeing Andy’s name lighting up my phone as confetti covers my TV screen.

“Andy.”

“It’s midnight.”

“It is.”

“New year. New beginning.”

“Yeah.”

“New beginning,” he repeats.

“You drunk?”

“No. I did not partake tonight. Needed to be sober so I could get my boys from the party they went to. Which I haven’t picked them up from yet. Because they have lives. And their dad does not.”

“Oh, please. You have a life.”

“This is partly true. The life I had? Not so great. The life I see coming? It’s pretty damn great.”

A shiver rolls through me at his words.

“And what do you see coming in your life, Andy Simpson?”

“You.”

* * *

Since that midnight phone call, we’ve talked every day. It’s been over a month, and there hasn’t been a single day that we haven’t spoken, texted, or seen each other.

One night when the boys were at a friend’s house for the evening, he called and by the sound of his voice, I knew it was going to be different from our lighthearted calls. We talked for hours about nothing and everything. And in those quiet moments over the phone where we both admitted we were lying in bed while talking, he confessed things that I can only imagine were bothering him for a while.

The admission that had me sitting up straight in bed, flush and thinking things I had no business thinking, was that he hadn’t had sex in almost a year. They hadn’t had sex in almost a year. She had. Obviously.

And what shocked me even more was that he said it didn’t bother him.

He lost all sense of affection toward her years ago and had simply lost the desire.

At least with her.

His quiet murmur that his desire was back again had me aching for him to be near me.

After that, our late-night confessions became our thing.

Some were silly and at risk of a teenage sleepover truth or dare.

Others were pushing the boundaries of friendship.

Celebrity crush: Teenage sleepover. (Though, when he told me Mila Kunis was his, I was glad we were on the phone so he couldn’t see my blush, considering that he’s told me more than once I resemble her.)

What we wear to bed: Boundary pusher.

What’s the most embarrassing thing that ever happened: Teenage sleepover.

Song that turns us on: Boundary pusher.

First kiss: Teenage sleepover.

Our favorite sexual positions: Boundary pusher.

And on and on they went. Admitting our deepest, darkest insecurities to making each other say what we liked about ourselves.

It was a combination of a therapy session and friendship building.

And I loved every single minute of it.

A few times he would call when Bri wasn’t home yet from a date with Grady and she would see me talking to him when she walked in the door. The first few times she simply smiled, kissed me on the cheek and went to her room.

The third time it happened, she walked over, leaned close so Andy could hear through the receiver and said, “It’s almost past her curfew, young man.” He laughed in response, and she giggled at herself, kissed me, and said good night.

The next morning, she told me she liked seeing me happy again.

When I hear a ringtone that I know I didn’t set for myself, I scramble to answer it.

“Hey, Andy,” I answer after sliding the phone out of my apron pocket, continuing to work the cinnamon roll dough.

“What’s up, buttercup?”

I laugh but still respond. “Not much. What’s shakin’ bacon?”

He chuckles. “Nice one.”

“Thanks. Nice ringtone, by the way.”

“How’d you know I had anything to do with it?”

“Uhh, who else would have changed my ringtone to Pillowtalk?”

His answering chuckle has me blushing. Again.

Funny how I’m a grown woman and blush like it’s my first crush.

Which yeah, I’ve finally admitted to myself having.

An enormous crush on Andy.

He clears his throat. “So, I have a question.”

“Shoot,” I tell him, adjusting the phone on my shoulder while I knead and roll the dough.

“Would you be up for meeting the boys?”

I drop the phone on the counter into the dough and rush to pick it up, flour covering my hands. As soon as I have it back to my ear, I grab the closest towel and wipe my hands clean then motion to Emma to finish the cinnamon rolls for me.

It seems like she’s always picking up where I’m leaving off lately. Especially when Andy is on the other end of what I drop work for.

She looks at me funny before I mouth Andy to her as I point to the phone.

She makes a kissy face at me, and I hip bump her while I’m making my way past her, to which she replies by cackling in return.

Brat.

Obviously, I may have been denying it to myself that I had a super crush on Andy — but I was doing a shit job at hiding it from those around me.

I knew good and well that’s what was happening, but I didn’t realize the extent of which it had built to.

“What?” I ask while I’m walking to my office for some privacy.

“Did you really not hear me, or are you just confirming what I asked?”

“Just confirming,” I murmur.

He laughs, which has my body warming.

“So, would you?”

“Now?” I ask on a shriek.

“Uh, kind of figured you could come over tonight. Not like this exact instant. And bring Bri. I think it’s time I meet her also. At least, officially.”

“Really?”

“Why not?” he asks, hurt in his voice.

I shrug even though he can’t see me.

“I’m not fighting it, Andy,” I promise him.

“I want my boys to know you, Christine. And I want to know Bri.”

“You’re not divorced yet,” I remind him.

“You think I give a shit about Heather?” His voice is a cross between shocked and angry, and I feel a little guilty, but he needs to be thinking clearly.

“You should. If she catches wind that you and I are…”

“Are?” he asks, prompting me with a teasing lilt to his voice.

“Well, um…” I stumble around for words. “That’s we’re…” I don’t know what we are. I know what I want to be. But I’m much further along in my single status than he is.

“Christine. I like you.”

I suck in a breath and spin around in my office chair.

“Do you like me?”

“Did you want Carly to pass me a note in class so I can check off yes or no?” I tease him.

He chuckles again. “I know I’m not divorced. Yet. But I’m not asking you on a date. Yet. Truth time?”

“Always.”

“We’re not dating but we’re dating, yeah?”

I hum a response because nothing is official, but it’s very clear there’s something happening between us. Him asking me to meet his kids just solidifies that.

“Right. We’re not official, but I want to be with you. I want you to meet my kids, and I think it would be nice for all of us to get to know each other a little better. The five of us. It’s time, Christine.”

“Okay,” I find myself saying, though knowing that I would have said yes anyway.

He doesn’t hesitate or gloat that he got me to say yes so easily. “Seven o’clock. Just bring yourselves.”