June Meyer appeared with two peppermint candies and handed one to Claire, one to Jack. “You two still together?” she asked. “We were never together,” Claire said.
June frowned. “Waste of a storm.” Harold called from behind her, “Leave them alone.” “You left me alone in 1945 and look how that went.”
Jack whispered, “I want their marriage.” Claire nodded. “Same.” At 11:59, the radio announcer began counting down.
People joined in. Ten. Nine. Eight.
Claire looked at Jack. Seven. Six. Five.
He looked at her. Four. Three. Neither moved.
Two. Jack leaned closer. One. The airport erupted into applause, horns from somewhere, exhausted cheers, strangers hugging because midnight makes everyone temporarily less suspicious of one another.
Jack did not kiss Claire. That surprised her more than if he had. He stayed close enough that she could feel his breath, then asked quietly, “Can I?” The question was somehow more intimate than a kiss would have been without it.