On Thursday, I thanked the doorman as he held the tall glass door to the Crowne Plaza. I was so nervous, I nearly tripped on a crack in the marble tile, but I caught myself before anyone saw. I wore my favorite white blouse that accentuated my figure and some tight jeans. Of course, Tyler wouldn't be able to see that yet, though, because I had a down black jacket on over the top. Before I had any more time to panic, Tyler stood from a plush leather chair and shoved his hands into his coat pockets.

This did not seem to be the same man I had remembered. The image of Tyler I held in my mind from three weeks before was tall, muscular, and confident—commanding the martial arts studio and the bar. Now, Tyler’s baggy Dockers and polo shirt left him looking small and sloppy. My heart sank as I recalled the image of Mouse’s large, muscular body slamming the door on his way out. Tyler’s unzipped fake leather jacket hung from his shoulders and appeared worn beyond normal clothing life expectancy. His goatee looked scraggly. What seemed before to be beautifully carved cheekbones now seemed to jut from his pale face in the overhead hotel lighting, but his dark brown eyes were captivating. He caught me in his gaze and smiled. I pushed Mouse out of my head and smiled back at Tyler.