Countdown Confessions: Chapter 1 - The Ten-Year Itch

 "Aye, Hallie, ye look grand. Now put the hairspray down before we’re both lungs-deep in glue." Ten years of friendship have led to this moment: a penthouse party, an emerald silk dress, and a zipper that refuses to cooperate. When Hallie asks her best friend Cal for a hand, she doesn't expect the room to catch fire. Between the scent of his sandalwood cologne and the heat of his Scottish burr, the "Just Friends" boundaries are starting to blur. They have a Safety Pact to leave the party together at 12:05 AM, but as Cal’s hands linger on her skin, Hallie begins to wonder if they’ll even make it to the front door.

Chapter One 

Hallie 

The Ten-Year Itch

"Aye, Hallie, ye look grand. Now put the hairspray down before we’re both lungs-deep in glue."

I caught Cal’s reflection in my vanity mirror and couldn't help the small, private smile that tugged at my lips. I didn't turn around yet; I wanted to savor the sight of him for a second longer while he thought I wasn't looking. He was leaning against my bedroom doorframe, his large frame nearly filling the space, looking unfairly put-together in a dark charcoal suit. The fabric was expensive, molding to shoulders that were three miles wide and a chest that had served as my literal leaning post more times than I could count.

He’d ditched the tie already, Cal always ditched the tie within five minutes of putting a suit on—leaving the top two buttons of his crisp white shirt undone. The sight of the pulse jumping in the hollow of his throat made my own heart do a nervous little somersault.

"It’s New Year's Eve, Cal," I countered, finally giving my curls one last, defiant spritz. "The 'bash of the century' at a penthouse requires structural integrity. If I’m going to be pushed around a crowded balcony at midnight, my hair needs to stay in its lane."

"Your hair has more discipline than most of the lads we're about to meet tonight," he grumbled. He stepped into the room, his boots heavy and grounded on my hardwood floors. Cal was a solid presence, the kind of man who took up space without even trying, a rugged, Scottish anchor in my otherwise flighty life.

I looked down at my vanity, at the cluttered graveyard of lipsticks and bobby pins, and felt a sudden, sharp pang of nostalgia. Ten years. We had been doing this for ten years. I remembered him helping me get ready for my college graduation, him holding a mirror while I tried to fix a rogue mortarboard. I remembered the night he’d sat on my kitchen floor with me when I was twenty-two, drinking cheap tequila and telling me I was too good for the guy who’d just broken my heart.

Back then, it was easy. Back then, Cal was the person I could be ugly-crying in front of without a second thought. But somewhere in the last twelve months, the air between us had shifted. It had become pressurized. Now, when he looked at me, I didn't feel the comfortable safety of a brother. I felt a buzzing, low-voltage current that made my skin feel too tight for my body.

I reached back, fumbling with the tiny, invisible zipper of my dress. It had stalled halfway up my spine, right at the most inconvenient dip. The emerald silk was slippery, and my fingers were starting to shake—partly from the draft coming off the window, and partly from the way Cal was watching me. His gaze wasn't the casual, bored look of a friend waiting for a ride. It was heavy. It was focused.

"I’ve got it," I lied, my fingers slipping for the third time. My breath was coming a little faster now, the silk clinging to my damp skin. "The zipper is just... being stubborn."

"Hallie, stop before you tear the damn thing."

He was standing right behind me now. The air in the room suddenly felt ten degrees hotter. I could smell him, sandalwood, clean laundry, and that faint, sharp scent of the winter air he’d brought in with him. It was a scent that meant safety to me, but tonight, it felt like a warning.

"Turn around," he commanded softly.

I obeyed, my heart doing a slow, heavy thud against my ribs. I stood up, the hem of the dress brushing my knees, feeling exposed in a way that had nothing to do with the amount of skin I was showing. Up close, Cal was a mountain. I had to tilt my head back just to meet his eyes—those dark, unreadable eyes that seemed to be cataloging every inch of me, from my freshly painted toes to the gold hoops in my ears.

"You’re a menace in that green," he muttered, his thick burr vibrating in the small space between us. "You know it, too."

"It’s just a dress, Cal. Don't be dramatic."

"It’s not just a dress. It’s a weapon of mass destruction." He didn't wait for a comeback. His large, calloused hands found my waist, his fingers spanning nearly the entire width of my torso. The heat of his palms soaked through the thin silk instantly, branding me. He turned me back around, and I felt the cool air hit my back where the dress was still open, followed immediately by the searing heat of his knuckles.

He reached for the zipper, his fingers grazing my spine. I closed my eyes, my breath hitching in a way that I hoped he didn't notice. Every time his fingers touched my skin, it felt like a match being struck. Best friends don't feel like this, I told myself. Best friends don't get lightheaded because a man is fixing a zipper.

I thought about the "Safety Pact" we’d made years ago. It had started as a joke. a way to survive boring parties and weddings where we didn't know a lot of people. But tonight, the pact felt different. It felt like a tether. A way to ensure that no matter what happened in that penthouse, we’d end the night together.

"You're trembling," he whispered. His voice was right at my ear now, his breath ghosting over my sensitive skin.

"I'm cold," I whispered back, though I was practically vibrating with heat.

"Liar."

The zipper slid up with a smooth, decisive click. But he didn't pull his hands away. Instead, he let his fingers linger at the nape of my neck, his thumb tracing the hairline there. It was a gesture of such profound intimacy that it made my knees feel like they were made of water. For a second, I thought he might lean down. I thought he might press his lips to that spot behind my ear, and if he did, I knew I wouldn't stop him. I’d turn around, I’d grab his lapels, and I’d ruin ten years of friendship in ten seconds.

The silence in the room stretched, thick and expectant. We were standing on the edge of a cliff we’d been avoiding for years, and all it would take was one gust of wind to send us over. I could hear the clock on my nightstand ticking, the literal countdown to a new year, and perhaps, a new us.

"Safety pact still stands?" he asked, his voice suddenly gravelly. He stepped back, breaking the spell, though the phantom heat of his hands remained on my skin like a brand.

I turned around, clutching my jewelry box like a shield. I needed the distance. I needed to remember how to breathe. "Safety pact. If the party is a bust, or if the finance bros start talking about their crypto portfolios and I feel my soul leaving my body..."

"Or if some lass tries to corner me to talk about her star signs and how our 'auras' are compatible," Cal added, a ghost of a smirk returning to his face. "I’m an Aries, Hallie. Apparently, that means I’m 'combustible.'"

"You’re definitely something," I murmured, finally finding my heels and stepping into them. The extra four inches of height didn't help; he was still towering over me, his presence filling every corner of the room.

"12:05," I finished. "Not a second later. We come back here, we order that greasy Chinese food from the place around the corner—the one with the questionable health rating that we love—and we pretend the rest of the world doesn't exist. No fancy suits, no silk dresses. Just us."

"12:05," he agreed, reaching out to flick one of the gold hoops I’d just put in. "But Hallie?"

"Yeah?"

He looked at me with an intensity that made the hair on my arms stand up. It was the look of a man who was tired of waiting, even if he didn't have the words to say it yet. "If we're leaving at five past midnight... make sure you don't waste your midnight kiss on some stranger. I’m not in the mood to pull some idiot off you tonight because he thinks a countdown gives him a right to you."

My heart did a violent, painful jolt. "And who should I 'waste' it on, then?"

Cal didn't answer. He just grabbed his heavy wool coat from the bed and gestured toward the door, his jaw set in a hard line. "Let's go, Hallie. The clock's ticking, and I’d rather get through the social nonsense sooner rather than later."

As I followed him out to the elevator, the cold winter air hitting my face, I realized that for the first time in ten years, I wasn't afraid of the party being a bust. I was terrified of what would happen when the clock actually hit zero. Because if Cal looked at me like that one more time, or if his hand lingered on my waist for a second too long, I wasn't going to be able to stay in my lane. I was going to crash right into him, and I wasn't sure if either of us would survive the impact.

Come back tomorrow for another chapter

Copyright © by LS Phoenix

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Published by LS Phoenix

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First Edition: December 2025

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