All week, Matthew was North; I spun until I found him. In the library I found the girls with their faces pressed flush against the window and old friends, drinking, Molly! Have a Glass! And you must tell— when I was already in the corridor that ends at the dining room, to the kitchen and that stable door, its path, leading to the garden, willing him to appear. Faster still, along the garden wall, slow before the gate, to turn that corner, to see him, to stop. There.
My stare and his slow smile: I’ve been looking for you.