"Chess pie!" My larger than life server calls my order into the kitchen.

"Harlan's having another?"

"Nope. Prettier than Harlan."

Curiosity gets the better of me, and I adjust my earbuds, warning Kendra I'm going to mute her. "Hang on... I think the natives are talking about the outsider..."

The unidentified male's voice shouts back from behind the line. "Who ordered it?"

"The city slicker that's using us as a Starbucks to wait out the storm."

"Does she know what chess pie is?"

I hold back my jaw drop. Who is this jerk?

My seasoned server shrugs. I can't see the guy in front of her, just the line cook beside him, chuckling at my expense.

"Let me guess, she asked you for a latte." The deep voice interjects again as my slice of pie appears in the window.

"Nope. She takes her coffee black, same way you do."

"Quincy? HELLOOO... Are there at least people around?" Kendra draws me back.

I unmute my earbuds to answer her. "Oh, just the friendly waitstaff."

My pie appears in front of me.

"Thank you." I smile up at my server. A head peeks out from the kitchen, and I almost want to pretend I don't understand what I ordered. His smoldering dark eyes, chiseled jaw, and brown hair match the voice I couldn't see. He's stretching to look past my server to get a glimpse of me.

"Kendra... you'll be happy to know I am not alone. There's a senior citizen a few booths down enjoying the same pie as me. Guess there's hope there."

"Desperate enough for a new year's kiss, you'd take it from an elderly stranger?"

"Whoops. He just paid the check. There goes that."

"I can't believe you left me in the middle of our episode to spend New Years alone at a diner that will most likely close and throw you out into this storm. Should we start googling nearest hotels? Maybe they rent snowshoes there."

"Shut up. It's a deadline, the same as every other episode. As long as there's internet, I'll get my pages in. I'll be fine, and so will our careers."

"And what's this place you're at called... the side of what?"

"The Sidecar."

"Quincy, where are you staying tonight?" 

The concern in Kendra's voice forces me to think past the cozy warmth of the diner, and I look out the snowy window at the reality in the parking lot. My snow-covered car.

Unconsciously, I shove a bite of pie into my mouth. Delicious. "Oh my God! This pie is as good as home... You're from Connecticut. You won't get it."

"Great. So there's pie just like home. That should get you through the night. If you don't figure something out soon, I'm calling your dad back for you."

"I'm hanging up to enjoy my pie."

My server heads toward me with a coffee pot. She's a brilliant mind reader.

"Can't have chess pie without fresh coffee."

I take my earbuds out and gleam up at her. "Truer words were never spoken in a snowstorm."

"Where 'ya headed?"

"Home to Texas for New Year's Eve."

We share a look at the blizzard out the diner windows. "I can get the fella's to dig you out when the snow stops, but I don't think it'll be tonight. News is calling for five more inches before midnight."

Six feet of masculinity walks our way just as my server, whose name tag says, Lita realizes she's about to be interrupted. "Lita, the storm's gotten worse, and they expect more."

Lita moves to the tall brooding, handsomeness speaking. His high cheek bones and pronounced chin turn toward the back of the dinner, and he motions over the rest of his staff with his stoic gaze.

A teenager leaves his bus tub and heads toward the concerned eyes of the man who's obviously in charge. "What's up, Chef?"

"Jerimiah, Stoney..."

The line cook, Stoney, I think, takes his apron off and joins.

"It's getting bad. I have to let you all go home before you aren't able."

"Are you gonna close?" The teen blurts his inquiry. Stoney laughs, and Lita answers on behalf of the dream in a chef's coat. "Are you kidding? The captain not go down with his ship?"

Stoney steps forward and points. "You see that sign? Now Serving. If it's flashing, The Sidecar is open."

The handsome chef smiles at his all-knowing staff. His eyes are dark, brooding, but enchanting when he smiles... uh, oh, they're coming my way. I freeze as his gaze meets mine, hoping there's no crumbs on my face.

"Come Hell, high water... and kitchen fires." They all share a chuckle, taking his attention back.

"I love you guys, but you've got to get." The chef sneaks one more curious look my way.

"Come on, Ryan."

So his name is Ryan.

"I'll leave if you turn the sign off. You've got to close, or you'll get hit with the masses, realizing this is the last stop." Stoney appears to be speaking to a friend.

"Nah, man. Look out there. Nothing can get through, and if you don't leave now, you won't either. If anyone does come, it will be because they need to. I need to be here for them."

Lita winks at her young boss and unties her apron. "You know, Jim. If I don't get home soon, he'll snow plow the driveway to get more beer!"

"There's an extra case in the walk-in with your name on it. Tell Jim Happy New Year."

Lita pecks Ryan on the cheek. "Thank ya, honey. Will do."

"Call me when you get to the house, so I know you made it. That goes for you too, Stoney."

"Does a case of beer in the back go for me, too?"

Ryan tosses Stoney a ring of keys and smiles. "Happy New Year, bro."

He points at the kid. "Jerimiah, a call from you when you make it home."

The young busser nods.

A throat clear comes from the back as Stoney puts on his jacket and hoists two cases of beer in his arms. "I'm going to load this up for Lita." He glances my way, then back at Ryan.

Great. Now the hot chef is going to tell me I need to find somewhere else to go.

This got real, fast. I haven't even finished my pie, and I'm closing the joint with a blizzard outside, rendering me stranded. I don't have the guts to call Kendra back.

The bell over the door jingles, signaling the last of the staff have left. I stare at the back of Ryan and his impossibly handsome physique, forgetting for the moment that I'm the diner's stowaway.

What's he doing here? Is he the owner? Is this one of those top chef-driven local hot spots? I watch him rub stress from the back of his tan neck as he watches his employees pull carefully out of the buried parking lot until their taillights disappear in the snow.

I push my laptop with its flashing curser, mocking me at every blink, to the side, and stare at what's left of my pie. Time stands still at either my embarrassment of being stuck at the diner's mercy or at the fact I just registered I'm alone with the most attractive man I've noticed in a long time.

I feel the tension, looking up from my pie as he starts toward my booth.

Our eyes meet, and I'm a goner. Electricity surges through me to the pit of my stomach. I want to look away, but I can't.

My cell rings, interrupting the moment. He stops, turns, and heads back to the kitchen.

"Hey, dad. Yeah, it's really coming down out there. I'm so sorry I'm not going to make it. It wasn't for lack of trying." I can't help but get choked up in a big way. An unanticipated tear glides down my cheek. "Me too, daddy. I really wanted to ring in the New Year with you."

A pregnant pause is coming through the line louder than anything I can think of to fix what I just said. It's been two years since I've been home. "I'm safe, dad, so that's good. I'll call as soon I get settled somewhere."

Dad's heartbreak hangs up before I click my earbuds off.

It's now that I'm outstandingly aware that I don't have anywhere to settle, and I'm keeping an incredibly hot chef from getting home safe. I clear my throat and push out of my booth to address the situation. Chef Ryan looks up from the kitchen window as I come into his line of vision. He's not saying anything. Awkward.

"Umm... I. You don't have to stay open for me. I can finish my coffee and ---"

"I've never seen anybody our age order chess pie."

Taken aback, I can't hide the proud smile that stretches across my face. "Eggs, sugar, butter, sometimes buttermilk, a tablespoon of flour and corn meal. Lemon if you like, and I do at Christmas time."

He does hide his smile. Apparently, he has more control over his expressions than I do, but I see it making an attempt. Kind of hot he didn't let it. "Where are you from?" he asks.

"My snow-covered plates say New York. Manhattan, to be precise, but my birth certificate says Texas."

He nods. "Ah, the birth certificate makes sense."

His face was back to its brooding expression. I wonder how I'd come to know it so well, having met him minutes ago.

"Look, I..." We both speak at the same time.

I press my lips to halt my speech and divert my eyes away.

His jaw tenses, and a corner of his lip rises as he brings his eyes to mine, forcing me to look back up at him. Man, he's tall. I bite my bottom lip as I return eye contact.

"I'm not staying open for you."

That's harsh.

Again, with no control over my expression when it comes to this perfect stranger, I'm afraid I can't hide my humiliation.

"Do you see that "NOW SERVING" sign?"

I nod.

"That sign is seldom turned off. It's fine to stay as long as you like. I'd ask if you have somewhere to go or someone to stay with, but it wouldn't matter. Unless you have skis and a death wish, you're not going anywhere."

"Oh." My face softens. But I'm still embarrassed to be stranded.

"I should have checked with Lita before I let her go. I know she has a spare room, and you..."

"Lita. my server! I still owe her a tip."

Wait, is he blushing? Cute. I should have known that's what does it for him. The people he cares about, and a knowledge of old-fashioned southern desserts, apparently.

"I guess you would have felt more comfortable bunking at her place for the night. I have the apartment above the diner. You're welcome to..." His voice trials a bit.

"No, I wouldn't rather stay at Lita's." Wow, Quincy. Good one. Why don't I just stand naked in front of him and offer myself up on the countertop? "I just mean... I wouldn't want to impose on Lita... or you for that matter. I don't want to impose on anyone."

"Relax. I'm happy to have you. It's New Years Eve, isn't it?"

Now I'm blushing. "Right, and I guess nobody wants to be alone. My dad's not unique in that."

"Who said anything about being alone? When the snow stops falling and fifty-two rescue workers, via fire squad, and volunteer snow blowers come in for a hoagie, I'll put you to work."

We both laugh louder than we should. He's nervous, too.

"Nah, I don't think the snow is going to stop tonight. I'm really sorry you couldn't make it to your dad."

An unsteady breath escapes me as his words resonate. The emotion of missing my father or this inexplicable attachment I feel toward the stranger in front of me makes my eyes water as his melt into mine.

There is no throat clear, no more awkward talking at the same time, just determined footsteps walking from the kitchen toward me. Ryan goes to the flashing NOW SERVING sign and pulls the string, turning it off. The air of him rushes his scent past me. He smells like every man should, but better. He's masculine, with an intensity of sandalwood and smoke, laced with a hint of honey. I feel warm and exposed simultaneously.

He stops at the jukebox and glances back at me. "Your name is Quincy." It's more of a statement than a question.

"My dad's a big fan." I'm rambling. I'm so nervous. He slides a quarter into the juke box and scrolls through the catalog.

"You don't have to play—"

"It's almost midnight, Quincy." He interrupts me with a kind, sexy smile and a new softness to his voice. He walks to me. I'm about to jump out of my skin. He's standing so close.

Can he hear my heart thudding through my chest?

Oh.

Ryan's heart is beating fast and hard, too. His chest meets mine as he reaches for my hand. The old juke box clicks on behind us, and I hear: Should old acquaintance be forgot ...

He didn't get cheesy and play Quincy Jones to make fun of me... he played "Auld Lang Syne." I'm blown away at his thoughtfulness as we slow dance to the Near Year's tradition. I look past his shoulder, my head comfortably rests on, at the flurries falling outside the dinner. Tears roll down my cheek.

I feel his breath next to me, and he raises my chin to meet his. "Quincy?"

"It's perfect." I smile up at him. "It's my tradition with my dad. This song, and he has a notion that whatever you do to ring in the new year or whomever you're with is what you'll be doing the rest of the year. Just sentimental, but it's why I was heading home to him. You've kept me from spending mine alone."

His brow furrows as he gently wipes away my tears. "Although I'm sorry for your dad's loss, I'm honored you ended up spending it with me."

"Even if the superstition suggests you'll be doing this the rest of the year..." I slow my speech as he bends toward me. His stoic face is tender as his lips press mine. Gripping just above my waist, he pulls me into him as we deepen the kiss. The song swells through the diner as our mouths become intimate. Two strangers ringing in the New Year in the most familiar way.

There is nothing missing from this New Year's Eve other than my dad. We even have fireworks of our own as Ryan continues our kiss through midnight.

"Quincy, I like the idea of kissing you the rest of the year."