At the beginning of this year, Logan and I held a New Year's Eve Party.

Friends, colleagues, and bosses - all lingered through our spacious high-rise apartment, exchanging pleasantries and wishing us good fortune on our new engagement.

Well, wishing Logan.

I was hiding in our kitchen. Having a panic attack over burned bruschetta bites.

"Damn it all..." I whined in a whisper as I fanned the burnt little toasts frantically. "He told you to just cater it - why didn't you listen?" I muttered to myself, feeling an overwhelming sense of dread start to wash over me.

It was too late. There was no saving these appetizers.

I had really screwed up. Just as much as the situation going on with my parents.

And deep down, I just knew. The only solution was to start over.

Defeated, I set down the oven mitt and took a seat at the kitchen island, trying to sip on my empty champagne glass. Tears started to escape from my eyes, leaving small drops on my black cocktail dress.

"Grace?" Logan knocked on the kitchen door as he walked in. He took a quick peek back at the guests in the living room and twisted the lock on the door shut as he walked in. "What's wrong?" He patted my shoulder and spoke softly into my ear.

When I tried to speak, I sobbed. He shushed soothingly and started to stroke my hair.

"Don't worry about it," he said and I sensed his head shift to look at the burnt pan of toasts on the stove. "These people could stand to lose some weight."

I didn't know what else to say, so I kept crying.

Yes, I was upset about the bruschetta bites. But there was so much more. So many other unsalvageable things.

After a long moment, he sighed and kissed the top of my head.

"Do you want me to send everybody home?"

"No..." I protested weakly and shook my head. I wiped at the corners of my eyes and groaned at the trail of mascara and eyeliner transferred to my fingers.

"Ok," he agreed softly. "I'm going to ask my assistant to handle the hors d'oeuvres and ensure we keep the champagne coming. And you..." He pulled away, then tipped my chin up to face my tear-stained cheeks. "Do whatever you need to do, so I can kiss my future wife at midnight." He wiped a tear and smiled softly, before leaving for the door.

I took a few deep breaths, feeling surprisingly soothed from his touch.

Some days, I couldn't believe we were together in the first place.

And others, I doubted I could imagine our lives apart.

"Get yourself together, Grace," I tried to urge myself upon standing up from the kitchen island.

I had work to secure. Connections to keep.

And if I wanted Logan and me to make it another year, I needed to be ready for that kiss.

I suppose now, fate was starting to seal itself on the last one.