I take his hand and try to smile. Who would have believed I’d wind up in a stalled elevator with him.

I’ve seen him all over for what seems like years. It’s probably been six months or so. I’ve never been one for keeping track of time. Life’s more interesting when even you don’t know what’s going to happen. Amidst all the surprises, unplanned outings, spontaneous excursions, and late-night coffee runs, he’s been there.

My roommate calls it kismet. My gay friend calls it ‘Hollywood romance’. My mom asks if I’ve been sleeping enough. I try to pin my therapist on what he thinks, but he just wants to know what I think or feel. I haven’t been sure, and I’m certainly not sure now, not that ‘being sure’ has ever been my strong suit.

Thus it was rather surprising that as our hands met, eyes met,lives finally officially met, that I am so utterly sure of one thing. This man is not a stalker. This man is not a creep. This man is going to love me.

“Hi,” he says, “I’m Steve. I think I’ve seen you around.”