Benedict: Midnight Kisses Jeanine

“Three minutes is a lifetime.” He set the bag down on the small bistro table she’d painted yellow last spring. “I brought champagne. And those little chocolate croissants from the place on Magazine Street. The ones you like.”

The first firework exploded over the river—a silver flower blooming against the black sky. Then another, and another. Cheers erupted from the streets below. The radio in her apartment, still tuned to the station Leo had put on hours ago, began to play “Auld Lang Syne.” midnight kisses jeanine benedict

He set down the bottle and walked toward her, slow, deliberate, the way he always did when he was giving her space to retreat. That was the thing about Leo. He never crowded her. He never pushed. He just… waited. “Three minutes is a lifetime

“I’m exactly on time.” He stepped closer, and the floorboards creaked under him. “It’s not midnight yet.” The ones you like