I’m the better dancer, but tonight I let him lead. He twirls me clumsily around the dance floor, once, twice. Despite the ache in my feet, I laugh, the room spinning and bright.
My flight is not for another six hours, but already I feel giddy and free, pausing only to sip a glass of champagne at midnight, the bubbles tickling my nose and making me feel lightheaded. A new year, a new city, a new start.
When we kiss, he tastes like whiskey and regret, and I wonder if he knows I’m lying when I tell him I’ll miss him.