Page 18 of Shadowing You

The helmet, mask, and jacket she wore told the world she was nobody important. But he knew differently.

She was everything.

His Mei Lin.

He started moving, but she shook her head, the movement small and sharp.

He stopped. Think.

He looked around, took in the square, the storefronts, the flow of the crowd. Between two restaurants, a narrow alley disappeared into shadows. He looked back at her once, not wanting to let her out of his sight. But then he turned his back on her and walked toward the alley. It took every scrap of self-control to keep his pace even and not look back again.

The alley smelled like the restaurants that flanked it. The yeasty scent of bao buns and a sweetness that must be char siu—Cantonese pork with its distinctive red glaze.

He stepped into the shadow and pressed his back to the wall, praying she’d come.

The rumble of a small engine separated itself from the cacophony of the square, growing louder. He stepped out from the wall.

Mei Lin stopped, cut the engine, and swung off the bike. She removed her helmet, set it on the seat, then put the mask on top of it. Finally, she faced him.

He took her in, this woman he loved. She looked different. And she looked exactly the same.

She was breathing. She was alive.

Until this very moment, he hadn’t been sure. Hadn’t allowed himself to fully believe.

He crossed the space that separated them, wrapped his arms around her, and lifted her off her feet. She was small, far too thin, and felt incredibly breakable.

But her arms came around his neck, and she held on, her breath warming his skin.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, the words filled with wonder. “You came. You’re here.”

“Of course, of course.” He didn’t know what else to say. Couldn’t get his mind to catch up to the reality of this moment. Or couldn’t get reality to catch up with the dream.

He didn’t know where she’d been or why she hadn’t reached out in six years. He didn’t know anything except that she was here, this woman he’d thought gone. They were together.

A thousand questions and zero answers and six years’ worth of silence tried to wedge itself between them, and he didn’t care about any of that.

He was a million miles from Virginia, in a back alley in a Chinese city he’d never heard of until the night before, but somehow, he was home.

The taxi driver had been close. He’d arrived at the mouth of the alley two minutes after Ethan texted, had barely raised an eyebrow at Mei Lin or the address Ethan gave him, which was far from where his day had started.

Physically and metaphorically.

Mei Lin scooted into the backseat right beside him. She held his hand, her grip firm. His other arm was wrapped around her, holding her close.

He couldn’t stop looking at her, and her gaze never wandered from his face. She was different in so many ways, yet the Mei Lin he’d fallen in love with was there, in those dark eyes. Her skin was pale, as if she hadn’t seen the sun in years, and her cheekbones were more pronounced than he remembered. Her hair had been cut about an inch above her shoulders, though not artfully or even professionally. More than that, it’d lost its shine.

Who had done this to her?

The apartment Gavin had secured was on the third floor of a nondescript building on a nondescript block. Nobody should be able to track him or Mei Lin here.

After giving the taxi driver another hefty tip, Ethan kept his arm around his wife’s waist as they walked up the stairs, afraid she might collapse and tumble back down. He used the code Gavin had given him, heard an electronic lock disengage, and pushed the door open. He paused to let Mei Lin enter first.

The tidy apartment held a kitchen table and two chairs with a small couch on the other side of the room. He guessed the hallway led to a bedroom.

Mei Lin hadn’t moved.

“Go on in,” he said. “Have a seat.”