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Anthony has new year’s plans, thank you very much.
He intends to sit at home alone and drink brandy with the ghost of his father.
He doesn’t mean that in a haunted way, not quite. But he always used to have a new year’s drink with his dad, who was an old-fashioned brandy drinking type, and Anthony has kept up the habit even though it’s over a decade now since his father died.
It’s not that he couldn’t hang out with other people on new year’s eve if he wanted. His brother, Colin, always invites him to the trendy sociable party he throws to welcome the new year. It’s one of those cheesy ones with drinks and fireworks and kissing at the countdown, Anthony understands.
He doesn’t know first-hand, because he’s never been.
Colin tried especially hard to convince him to show up this year with some story about Kate being on the guest list, but Anthony knows better than to fall for that. She’s not really the cheesy new year’s party type either.
Who’s Kate, you ask? Kate Sharma is Anthony’s closest friend, probably. She’s also a total menace, but in a fond way. He loves her in all the ways it’s possible to love a person, thinks she’s probably the most aesthetically pleasing woman in existence, and happens to enjoy nothing more than pissing her off in petty squabbles at the office they both work at.
The office of the law firm he owns, as it happens.
Yes. Anyway. The other thing about Kate is that they first met on his second date with her sister. So - that’s a pretty awkward way of meeting a person who turns out to maybe be your soulmate, isn’t it?
Hmm. Well. He hasn’t told her his soulmate theory.
Obviously he hasn’t. He’s the kind of man who spends new year’s eve drinking alone with only the memory of his father for company. He’s obviously not the type to have a coherent and rational conversation about love with the person who may or may not be his soulmate, is he?
He swallows that thought down with a generous gulp of brandy.
He might put a movie on, he thinks. He could go for a good action movie, all stunts and thrills rather than feelings. That might be a decent way to compliment the numbing effect of this brandy. That might -
There’s a sudden knock at the door.
Anthony blinks stupidly at it for a moment, as if expecting the very wood to start speaking to him.
Why the hell is someone knocking on the door of his little above-office flat at nine twenty-three on new year’s eve?
He sets down his brandy, stands up, walks cautiously towards the door.
“Who is it?” He asks, frowning at no one.
“It’s me. Kate.”
What the actual hell?
He throws the door open at once, of course. That was definitely her voice, and he’s clearly not going to leave her standing outside.
It takes him perhaps half a second to ascertain that she looks awful.
He’s always going to find her beautiful, of course, because that’s how soulmatery works - or perhaps he’s simply pathetic. But she looks like she’s in a bit of a state, too. She’s soaked to the skin so badly her sweater is clinging to her, and her eyes are red from crying, and she’s visibly shaking with cold or emotion or perhaps both.
He wonders whether someone has romantically rejected her, and whether he should hit that person in the face.
“What’s wrong?” He asks, instinctively steps back to welcome her into his flat.
She doesn’t enter. She stands there, outside the threshold, and trembles.
“Kate? What is it?” He presses her.
“It’s Newton. I’ve lost Newton. Or - well - he ran off. A firework. Someone must have let it off early. He shot off at the sound of it and - and I’ve looked - I’ve looked and looked.”
Ah. Newton is her dog. He’s a grumpy little corgi, and Anthony has a particularly poor relationship with the creature. But he’s a grumpy little corgi who is important to Kate, of course, so they tolerate each other well enough when they have to.
“Right. OK - we’ve lost Newton. What do you want me to do? How can I help?” He asks, reaches instinctively to rest a hand on her arm.
He hopes that’s steadying. She looks like she could use a little steadying, just now.
“I don’t know. I guess - I thought maybe you’d help me look. I want to keep looking. I just - I knew you’d be home. That’s as far as I got.” She admits.
Goodness. He’s never seen her this scared, this unsure of herself. He’s never seen her lost for words or for ideas. Kate is normally one to tackle the world head-on.
There’s something which feels suddenly very intimate about her showing up to his door, of all doors, in such a shaky state. Like she’s letting him in on the inside of her rare panic, trusting him to be non-judgemental and helpful and things like that.
He’d best rise to the challenge as well he can.
“Where did you last see him?” He asks at once.
“The park. Between the bandstand and the dodgy bushes.”
“OK. Great. We’ll start there. Can we swap that wet sweater for a dry one? Can I lend you a dry sweater and a coat?” He suggests urgently.
“Still trying to tell me what to do, Bridgerton?” She asks, with perhaps a hint of her usual teasing tone - but a weak hint, a wet hint, a hint which is freezing in new year’s eve rain.
“I really think you should change your sweater.” He reiterates, soft as he can.
“We need to get back out and -”
“And not die of hypothermia. We’ll find Newton easier if you’re whole and healthy. I’m going to get you a sweater to change into while I make us a thermos of coffee.”
“You’re such a dork.”
“A dork who cares about finding your dog. Accept the sweater, Kate.”
“I’m accepting the sweater.” She agrees, and walks fully into his flat at last.
……..
He’s reasonably satisfied with the state of their equipment, by the time they leave his flat again five minutes later. Kate is wearing a dry borrowed sweater and his big outdoors waterproof. No doubt she’ll tease him for having a posh country sports waterproof when she’s feeling less upset about her dog, but for now, she’s simply wearing the thing without complaint.
Anthony himself is dressed sensibly, with a practical little backpack of coffee in a thermos, and cereal bars, and helpful things like that. He’s never been on a dog-search mission before, but he presumes that’s the sort of thing to carry.
Kate has her pockets full of dog biscuits, too, because apparently that’s the only thing she thought to usefully grab from home in her panic.
So it is that he’s feeling reasonably optimistic as they set out on their search. They’re sensibly equipped. They know the park well. They know the dog well. If anyone can find the damn creature, it’s them.
But then - they don’t.
They simply don’t ever, ever find him. They spend two hours wandering around in the godawful pouring rain, searching for Kate’s beloved dog, and not seeing so much as a stubby leg for their trouble. They call, and they wave dog biscuits, and they whistle like anything.
And still - still - Newton is nowhere to be seen.
After a couple of hours, Anthony decides that they had better sit down to drink some of that coffee thermos and rethink their plan. He’s worried that Kate keeps stumbling, and he doesn’t know whether that’s from cold or panic or exhaustion or woefully inadequate footwear, but whatever the explanation, it doesn’t seem like a great sign.
“I think we should take a break on this bench.” He says simply, when they happen to walk past one.
“We have to keep looking.”
“Kate -”
“We have to.”
He reaches out, two hands on her shoulders, two eyes staring her down.
“Kate. I know you’re worried sick. But you’re also freezing, and you keep tripping over. Friends don’t let friends faceplant into a dog turd on new year’s eve. We’re going to sit down and drink coffee for literally two minutes, and then we are going to keep looking.”
She stops arguing with him very abruptly, then. She falls onto the bench, butt first, his jacket almost standing up of its own accord around her as she sits.
He follows more slowly, gets that coffee out and watches her gulp at it like she’s dying of thirst.
And then -
“I don’t know what I’ll do if I don’t find him.”
“I know.” He offers, because it seems like a soothing thing to say even if it makes no logical sense.
“Sometimes I feel like he’s the only family I’ve got.”
Ah. So the sister thing is complicated, then. Somehow he has always realised that, but they’ve never spoken about it before.
Best say something useful, if he can.
“That’s not true. I know it’s not the same - and I know you’re upset about Newton - but you’ve always got me.”
“True. Thank you. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” She tells him, leaning into his side a little despite the stiff coat. “I don’t know what I did do without you, all those years before we met.”
“I know the feeling. Sometimes it’s like I can’t breathe when you’re not here.” He says, before he can think too hard about it.
“Is there a reason we’ve never tried dating?”
The world seems to stand still, even as the rain keeps pouring. How the hell is he supposed to answer a question like that? Where is he even meant to begin?
Kate presses on, as if worried he’s freaking out on her. “I just - I figure I might as well ask, tonight of all nights, when I’m already upset. It’s not like my day can get much worse, is it?”
Right. Well, then. He can’t have her worrying about this, can he? He can’t have her doubting the soulmatery of it all.
Time to go all in. Time to just say something, and trust that it’s better to spend new year’s eve with the living than with the dead.
“It’s certainly not because I’m not interested.” He says, half-chokes on a desperate dry chuckle. “I guess - you know - we’ve got a few hang-ups between us. I’m scared of love and loss and having my heart broken - and anyway, I dated your sister.”
“Hmm. I wasn’t planning on breaking your heart, in case that helps.”
“I think it does. And I didn’t date your sister much, in case that helps. I did stop as soon as I realised you were - you know - you.” He offers.
“Mmm.”
Silence sits a moment. He’s not sure whether she has nothing more to say, or whether she’s busy nursing that coffee, or whether she’s simply fretting about her dog.
It occurs to him that he ought to help find Newton rather than pressing that whole soulmate thing.
“We’ll find Newton.” He tells her now, fervent. “He’s not your only family, but I know he’s important to you, and we’ll find him. I’ll put up hundreds of posters with that damn family fortune you’re always teasing me about as the reward.”
She laughs a tired laugh. “Thanks. I know you will. I love you.”
Ah. How fascinating. There it is, after all these years, as natural as drawing breath. Or at least - as natural as breathing is when she’s near.
“I love you, too.” He tells her without missing a beat. “We’re definitely doing something about that when you’re less upset about Newton. That’s my new year’s resolution - let’s have a go at dating after all these years. You want in?”
“Yes. There’s nothing I want more.” She tells him, reaches out to squeeze at his thigh, hard. “But - but maybe you’re right. Maybe we’d best put a pin in that until I’m less upset about my daft dog.”
At that exact moment - that very second - Newton bounds out of the shadows and onto her lap.
All hell breaks loose. Kate is laughing and crying and cuddling the creature. Anthony is yelping in shock, because that was sudden, damn it. And when he’s finished yelping in shock, he’s gaping in disbelief, because that timing just seems implausibly good.
“He was holding out on us.” He half-yells the accusation, his finger jabbing slightly at Newton’s butt. “He knew all along - he knows I’m in love with you - and he was trying to force me to say something.”
“Anthony, sweetheart, I don’t think the dog understands you that well.”
“He does. He definitely does. This was all a ploy.”
“Does he look alright to you? Is it me or is he holding his left foreleg funny?” She asks, rather than engaging with his point.
That’s no surprise under the circumstances, he supposes.
“Kate, sweetheart, there’s nothing wrong with him at all - except that he’s soaked to the skin. I’m taking you both home.”
“Anthony, sweetheart, you can’t tell me what to do.”
Hmm. Well. That sweetheart is definitely a thing now, isn’t it? That’s definitely an established feature of this fledgling relationship. How have they settled on that so quickly, then?
Oh - and - did she just say something? Should he perhaps respond to her actual point rather than getting distracted by sweethearts?
“OK. So - I’m firmly suggesting that we should get you and your dog warm and dry. Your place?” He suggests.
“My place. You’ll stay?”
“Of course I’ll stay.” He tells her at once. “Midnight sets the tone for the next year, right? So I’d better be in your bed by the time the clock strikes twelve.”
She splutters out a laugh. “Really? That’s what you’re going with?”
She looks at him, brows raised, eyes warm. He wonders whether she’s considering a kiss, or if she’s too cold and emotionally mixed up to want their first kiss under such circumstances
It turns out even better than a kiss, somehow.
She throws herself at him in the most wholehearted hug. There’s a soaked squirming corgi between them, as well as the stiff collar of his waterproof, but all the same it’s the best hug he’s ever known, overflowing with that fire and spirit and magnetism which has always defined him and Kate. He feels a thousand feet tall just for having her in his arms, scratchy wet dog and all.
“Love you.” He whispers into her hair, presses the lightest of kisses to her forehead.
“Love you.” She whispers against his neck, presses a kiss of her own to the sensitive skin there.
They have the rest of their lives for what comes next, and he knows it’s going to be wonderful. Honestly - it’s at least halfway to wonderful, here on a park bench while they’re soaked to the skin.
But for tonight, love and warmth - that’s all that matters.