He has to know I’m following. He wants me to follow. Right? Self-doubt creeps into my mind and I slow as I reach the turn. But I don’t let myself stop. Not now. Not after a week of wishing I could see him just one more time. My hands press against my stomach, holding the butterflies in, as I round the corner. I expect to see him further down the hall, but he’s right here. Right freaking here. Standing in front of me. Looking me straight in the eyes.
