Last December 31st, you found yourself on a rooftop party to ring in the new year. Your friends had begged you to attend, and the enticement of a once-in-a-lifetime rooftop view of the fireworks had you saying yes. You put on your sparkliest outfit and made sure to wear pink underwear for love, peace, and friendship.

You see a lot of familiar faces at the party, and as champagne bubbles in your glass, you feel a sense of contentment being surrounded by people you've met and spent time with this past year. It's beautifully decorated, gold glitters in every corner, and with the view, you can still see the remnants of Christmas lighting up people's apartment windows.

You sip your drink and let it warm your skin on the chilly rooftop. You catch sight of your friends boyfriend- the one that works at the local base as a special forces operator- and your heart skips a beat. Maybe he's here tonight. John Price. The silver fox you haven't been able to get out of your head all year.

As midnight grows closer, you do a few rounds of the rooftop in search for him. You smile when you see people getting ready for the countdown, getting grapes to eat for luck or grabbing an empty suitcase so they can travel in the next year. You hope your pink underwear does the trick. You stop near the refreshment table and sigh as the countdown begins.

10, 9, 8, 7... As the partygoers start chanting, you lock eyes with someone across the rooftop, who is pushing his way past the crowd. To you.

6, 5, 4... "Was hoping you'd be here," his deep voice rumbles once he reaches you. He clinks his champagne glass against yours before lifting it like everyone else.

3, 2, 1... His gaze is still locked on yours, and as the numbers dwindle he puts his big hand on your hip to draw you closer.

"Happy New Year!" Everyone shouts in unison. Confetti and champagne bottles pop as you both take a sip of the bubbly. Then, John leans in, nose nudging against yours as your eyes flutter shut. The fireworks begin, but you don't even register them as you start the year with a passionate kiss.

And that's not the only way you started the new year off. Those pink panties did their job before they were taken off because exactly 365 days later, you're rocking your almost three-month-old baby to sleep in the middle of the night. You're exhausted, but you smile down at the sweet, sleepy face looking back up at you. The nursery door opens, and John sets a freshly brewed cup of tea on the dresser next to you. His fingers brush the baby's cheek, then tip your chin up, "Hey, it's midnight. Happy New Year, love."