Page 31 of Mr. Match

I can’t know until it happens. Until he makes his choice in his moment. Only then can I make mine—to go through with this or turn back before it starts.

The front entrance to St. Joseph’s has three Gothic arches that form an outside vestibule and lead to the tall double doors. That’s where I waited for him four years ago and it’s where I’ll wait for him now.

I walk up the four steps and hide in the shadows, ears straining to hear the sound of his bike. I know he’s at Ariel’s house, only two blocks away. But there’s only the sound of people on College Avenue mixed in with the wind.

My legs feel weak and I lean further into the darkness, my back pressing against the hard stone. My mind racing with the possibilities before me tonight.

He did say meet me. That’s a good sign. At least he’s interested.

But I know what’s going on in his world. My timing here isn’t coincidental. I didn’t just happen to post that video to that site. I posted myself to his site.

The roar of a custom Shrike Bikes motorcycle erupts down the street.

That’s him. He’s coming. He’s seconds away. My heart is out of control. Galloping like a horse as I breathe faster to supply it with oxygen.

I have to swallow. I have to clasp my hands together to stop them from shaking. I have to turn away from the street and lean my head against the church to keep my legs from buckling underneath me.

I count to ten as the engine noise builds, gets closer, and then… and then he’s there. His engine revving once, twice, until everything around me goes silent.

Look at him. Turn around and look at him.

But I can’t.

I want to keep hiding as the deep thud of his boots walking up the stairs fills my head. I want to disappear and pretend none of this is happening. I want to go away, come back, and try again. Making different choices, creating new moments.

“Kat,” he says, just a few feet away from me.

I am breathing so hard, he must surely hear it.

A hand on my shoulder, trying to pry me away from the building. Trying to force me to turn… to see him.

“It’s you?” he asks. “Why can’t you look at me?”

“It’s a good question,” I whisper back.

His grip tightens on my shoulder, forcing me to make a decision. I turn, lifting my chin so I can see those blue-gray eyes first.

“Kat.” He laughs, a huge smile on his face.

“It’s me,” I say.

“You came back.”

“I said I would. Didn’t you believe me?”

His fingertips are tugging on the collar of my coat, pulling it away from my shoulder, then slipping it down, along with the collar of my sweater, so he can see the mark he left on me four years ago.

One arm gathers me close as he leans in and kisses the scar hiding behind his inked words. “And here,” he says, lips lightly brushing against my skin.

“And here,” I say, tilting my head away to give him free access.

I hug him then. The way I used to, before I was sad. Before I was lost. Before… back when I was happy, but didn’t realize it.

He hugs me back. “Come on,” he says, pulling away but grabbing tightly to my hand as he does it. “I’ve been waiting four years for this second chance.”

So there is it.

Our choices made in the moment.