Spraying the glass, I take my rag and scrub, stopping when there’s movement in the reflection and glance over my shoulder toward Marcus’s building.

            My breath snags in my throat and I snap my head back toward the window, watching him in the reflection as he stands across the street, hands shoved deep inside the pockets of his jeans, like he’s been there all morning, waiting.

I yank at my sweater where it’s slipped off my shoulder, terrified Marcus saw my newest tattoo from where he’s standing and will tell me I have no right to make that date permanent since it wasn’t even real.  He’s probably coming to tell me to stay out of his life and his neighborhood.

I glance over my shoulder and his eyes slide to mine over passing cars. Heat pools in my stomach, my legs going weak as I turn to him, gripping the door handle behind me to steady myself.

            We stare at each other, the world slowing to a stop. My breathing rustles in my ears as he glances both ways, waiting for a steady stream of traffic to pass before darting across the street, his eyes never leaving mine.

He slows and steps onto the curb, the endless expanse of sidewalk between us adding to my uncertainties of what’s about to happen as the lump in my throat grows.

“Hey,” he whispers, glancing at me from beneath his eyelashes. I haven’t heard his voice since Taiwan and it carries a million moments in time, all sacred, and I want to drop to my knees.