Author's Note: I apologize for the fact that this is so late in showing up and I hope you all will for give me. I hope the length more than makes up for it though.

Chapter Three

She is thirty-two when he stumbles upon her again.

The wide-eyed girl with the numerous eccentricities had been lost to circumstance while the sullen young woman that had taken her place seems to have disappeared as well. The woman he has encountered after another seven-year lapse in time is appears to be a melding of the two, a combination of the features that suited both of her counterparts the best. Soft curves have since replaced hard lines, a relaxed smile that beckons people to her frames guarded eyes that allow a certain distance, darkness precariously balances the light. As many times that she has entered his mind in brief doses over the last seven years, he is certain that this version of the woman will remain as a testament to his previous cowardice and stupidity.

She is thirty-two when he stumbles upon her again and his last minute decision to attend yet another wedding is the reason behind their paths crossing once more.

It is the fifth wedding this year that he has been forced by the bonds of friendship to attend, the number of people he can call for a spontaneous drink on a Friday night dwindling to the amount that can be counted on one's hand. He does not begrudge them their happiness or the fact that they were able to get their acts together and settle down to a family. He only wonders—as he sits at a table cloaked in silvery white and watches the dancing couples bask in their contentment—how he ended up the lonesome guest who gets drunk off cheap champagne while everyone he knows pities him.

Had there not been a plan in place for his life? Top honors in high school that would continue on to being top honors in college that would allow him a top career, winning the competition that would name him as the family wizard and marrying the woman who would complete the vision he had in his head of the idealistic life by the time he was thirty. But none of that plan had ever happened except for the part of him earning top honors in high school. Max had won the competition, he was still working in the same position for the same company that had thrilled him at twenty-three, and both of his siblings had significant others while he was still trying to find the ability to get past a first date.

The failures of his life leave him with a bitter taste in his mouth much like the aftertaste from the champagne that dulls his senses and has become a comfort. Numerous glasses have been consumed since the reception first went underway and the fruity nature of the drink is no longer capable of covering the alcoholic truth of the liquid. His indulgence in consuming the amount of golden liquid that he has brings upon feelings of fuzziness in his head that he enjoys and revels in, fuzziness that he will curse and regret the next morning when it morphs into pain. It will become the harsh consequence of his decision to attend the reception instead of leaving directly after the groom kissed the bride, as is his usual course of action.

However, as he makes his way to the bar for a glass of water to dilute the alcohol in his system, the brief flash of dark red that he spots out of the corner of his eye reminds him of just why he has chosen to remain among sickening sweet couples instead of returning to his empty apartment. At the wedding, he had situated himself in his normal position in the church—the aisle seat on the fifth pew from the back, far enough inside to be mistaken for being a part of the festivities but close enough to the door to slip away undetected during the kiss—with every intention to escape to the cold beer waiting in the refrigerator back home. And he would have been successful had he not let his eyes drift over the line of bridesmaids that were chosen for the event.

For the bridesmaid at the end of the line, dressed in a strapless knee-length dress the color of cranberries ripening in the sun, was none other than the woman he had left in Seattle. Full lips painted the color of the dress, baby's breath entangled in auburn waves and smoky eyes that held a blank expression that he was certain rivaled his own, he had to do a double-take to be certain that his eyes were not deceiving him. If it had not been for the familiar bit of black ink that adorned the peaches-and-cream skin of her wrist, he would have still believed that she was someone else.

The soft scent of floral perfume interlaced with the sharpness of cinnamon candies that permeated the basement bedroom long after she was gone encompasses him and he knows that she is standing right next to him without having to look. His feet suddenly feel the urge to run but he silently wills them to stay put by focusing on the glass of water in his hand.

"Can I get a shot of anything that does not resemble champagne?" she asks the bartender in a voice that indicates that she has been to one too many weddings as well.

The man, stocky in build and with a face that makes him look seventeen, pours a generous amount of the dark liquid that his father used to consume when his sister was a troublemaking teenager. He assumes that Harper will reject the whiskey for something with less of a bite but his assumption is negated by her act of immediately tossing back the drink as though it were nothing more than simple water. She motions for the empty glass to be refilled and once it has, breathes out, "God, I hate weddings."

The bartender chuckles and shakes his head slightly at her words. "I thought the prerequisite for being a bridesmaid was that you had to hold them in some sort of favor."

"That's only if you were an original choice. I could be at my apartment right now, curled up in my pajamas and a good book right now if the original hadn't gotten food poisoning at the bachelorette party last night," she sighs wistfully.

"So what is the prerequisite for being an alternate?" The bartender chuckles again and Justin finds that the sound has begun to grate on his last nerve.

"There are three, actually. The first being that the bride is my editor's spoiled, whiny, twerp of a niece and I need to be in my editor's good graces if I want to actually have a career. And the other two are the same for all us last minute alternates. I live twenty minutes away, even in traffic, and I fit the dress. Lucky me," Harper explains, holding her glass up in a mock toast before downing her second shot of whiskey. "At least it's almost over and I can go back to my life looking like a saint."

The bartender smirks and Justin feels the sudden urge to physically wipe the expression from his face tingling the tips of his fingers. It grows stronger as the man—no longer the good ol' boy that he had appeared to be at the beginning of the conversation—leans over the counter towards Harper and speaks in a lowered voice that is full of innuendo. "Why don't we go somewhere later and we can see just how much of a saint you can be?"

To a stranger, the friendly expression on her face never alters. However, Justin is no stranger and the brief flicker of disgust in her emerald eyes has him moving closer to wrap an arm around her waist in a protective grip that could be misconstrued as jealous. He feels her tense at the foreign touch but she immediately relaxes as she turns her head to catch his gaze just before his lips brush against hers. He knows that she is uncomfortable with the gesture and would have slapped him like she had seven years before if the sleazy bartender was not bearing witness.

"Sorry I'm late, darling, but the meeting ran long and traffic was a nightmare. How was the wedding?" His tone is an exaggerated drawl and he silently pleads with her to go along with the act.

She might hate his guts but he knows that she would rather deal with the devil she knows than the one that is a stranger. That is his thinking as she dares to glance at the bartender once more before turning her body to face his, wrapping both arms around his neck and running manicured fingertips through the hairs at the nape. The action is causing tremors that Justin has not felt since his first girlfriend to run down his spine and through his legs, tremors that are only intensified when Harper rises the few inches it takes to connect her lips to his.

Maybe it is because the kiss is a part of the act to discourage the slimy bartender that he decides to hold her a little tighter. Maybe it is because he knows that she would never ruin the act by hitting him that he decides to take it a step further than what she probably intended for originally. Or maybe it is because he has dreamt of this exact moment since the last time they met and the alcohol earlier consumed has relaxed his barriers that he angles his head slightly more to gain better access. Whatever the reason, he decides to make it worth his while if the consequences are going to wind up biting him in the ass anyway.

A moan is heard from deep in her throat and the need for oxygen that has become too great is the cause for the break in the kiss. Harper looks absolutely sated for the briefest of moments before her eyes widen in remembrance of where she is and whom she is with. As they stare at one another, neither notices that the bartender has decided to cut his losses and move on to the next single woman ordering a drink. Neither do they notice that the dancing couples have come to a halt and have crowded around the couple in the spotlight shoving cake at each other. What they do notice is that the air between them has shifted into something that is unrecognizable to them both and feelings experienced only once by only one have arisen so suddenly that it is jarring to Harper.

This is why, before Justin can gain another thought in his mind, Harper tears herself out of his arms and flees like she had done after another kiss seven years prior in Seattle. She has worked hard to build a wall around her heart, keeping dark-haired men with dark eyes that melt the soul out as to not be hurt again. Fourteen years she has been successful in keeping it maintained, focusing on education and then building her career without giving pause to think about having a social life. She may not be ecstatic with the prospect of not having a husband and kids waiting for her at home but she is content.

Well, she was content until she kissed the man who had caused her to erect that wall to begin with and now she can feel it all crumbling down around her. Bit by bit, the floodgate is being released and tears that have not fallen in over a decade are beginning to cloud her vision as she reaches the doors leading out of the reception hall. All she wants is to gain her escape, return to her apartment and shed these tears so she can work on forgetting the events of the day.

But it seems fate is not on her side as her escape is impeded just feet from the place where her jacket and purse are being stored by the grasp of strong fingers on her upper arm. The dormant training of her body to instinctively know his proximity has been reawakened by earlier actions that she is beginning to regret and as he whips her around, another instinct she has honed comes out as her open palm swiftly comes up and lands against cheek with enough strength to force his head sideways. She tries to break from his grip but he holds firm and the heat from her unshed tears burn her eyes as she stares up at him, hating the fact that he can see that he has broken her but taking a sort of pride at watching normally tanned skin turn pink then red from her hand.

The hand not holding onto her comes up to massage his jaw line and he lets out a stream of air through his nose, trying to calm the raging inferno made up of anger and frustration roaring just beneath the surface. "Damn it, Harper," he curses. "Do you have to hit me every time we see each other again?"

"I don't know, Justin. Do you have to kiss me every time we see each other again?" she spats out. She tries to twist her arm out of his grip again but to no avail. "Can you just let me go?"

He winces upon hearing the tired and broken quality of her voice, knowing that he had caused it but not knowing how to fix it. "I think if I remember correctly, sweetheart, you kissed me this time."

"I only kissed you to keep from being hit on by some guy who thinks the single bridesmaid cliché is true. Now, let me go," she says, expelling the last four words through a clenched jaw and punctuating each one with a jerk.

The noise in the hall is beginning to grow louder and glancing over his shoulder at the double doors slowly opening, he know that they will soon have an audience and Harper will have her chance to leave him behind once and for all. The icy fingers of panic snake across his skin and wrap around his insides as he realizes that letting that happen would slowly kill him. Unwilling to let reality go unresolved and his future be amassed fantasies, he slides his hand down until it holds her wrist and drags the protesting Harper behind him as he quickly searches for an unlocked door.

His is successful in his search when the fifth one gives way to reveal a janitor's closet and he forcefully lobs the woman into it before ducking inside as well. He fumbles around the closet in search for the light and when found, the illumination gives way to a sight that he is more than prepared to encounter. Her arms are crossed over her chest; her full lips are pursed to form a straight line that is white with contained fury as two smoldering emeralds shoot daggers at him. As the seconds tick by, he feels his hands grow clammy as his nerves begin to kick up and he wonders if he should count his losses by letting her leave.

"So, how long do you plan on holding me hostage?" she demands.

He runs a hand through his hair and curses under his breath, wishing that this could be a movie where everything is wrapped up in ninety minutes and everyone lives happily ever after. Or that this moment was happening a decade and a half earlier when Harper would have been more than happy to kiss him and he would not be stuck in a closet trying to figure out the right words to form.

"I don't want us to end up like the characters from your latest book," he blurts out, the words thrown into the air before he can gain a handle on them. "I mean...what I mean is...oh, hell, I just don't want you to hate me forever."

She actually appears to be dumbfounded as her mouth opens and closes, trying to form a sentence to respond. Frowning, she relaxes her stance and her eyes show confusion instead of hatred. "What exactly do you mean?"

"The kiss never should have happened. He knew it. She knew it. Too much had changed between them but yet, so much was the same. She was still that quirky girl who never fit in. He was still the family wizard who could never dream of a life without powers. It was never going to work out and it was time for one of them to cut the cord that bound them together. Straightening her jacket, rumpled from their actions, she gave him a lingering smile so soft that it did not seem to be there at all. 'For all the years I wished for this to happen, I'd trade them all if it meant it never would,' she said, her voice broken by promises never spoken. 'I'll be gone by morning. Don't try to find me.' And with that she was gone, chasing new dreams in a life that he would never share."

A tear trickles down her cheek as she listens to him recite the last passage of her book verbatim. It was the ending to a much-loved series although not the one that was wanted by her editor and fans alike. Everyone wants the heroine to get together with her love interest and for him and her to ride off into the sunset for all of eternity. But when art imitates life, the only plausible thing to do is to take the actual event in question and warp in a way that fits its fictional counterpart. And that meant that the characters had to go their separate ways just like she and Justin had, making it real to her even if she did not include her fictional self slapping his character like she had done in Seattle.

"You read my books," is all she can say to the expectant expression on his face as he stares at her. "How many times did you read them? Even I can't remember what I wrote that well."

"It doesn't matter." He is embarrassed now. She can tell by the pink forming on the tips of his ears. "The point is, I know you hate me for things that were left unsaid and undone. As well as things that were done that never should have been done. I had no right to kiss you seven years ago and pretend like I hadn't played a role in the demise of whatever our relationship was at eighteen. I should've tried harder to apologize and I should've never let you disappear for another seven years. And you have every right to hate me but I really wish you wouldn't."

"I don't hate you. I never did," she says quietly, causing his eyes to immediately snap over and lock onto hers. "I was mad at you—mad at the world, really, to be more accurate—for a really long time. And just when I thought I was over it, you came sauntering back into my life in a place I thought I was safe in. I wanted to make you hurt that day, as much as you hurt me that last night I spent in New York. So, I said things that I was sure would make you walk away. But you kissed me instead so I had to take the more violent approach.

"Hating you never really worked for me and I've found that anger doesn't work when you're involved either. So, I worked at putting a shield up and building it as strong as I could on the off chance that we'd meet again. And just when I think that I'm ready to face you and that I won't feel a damn thing for you because of that shield, we actually come into contact with each other and everything goes down the drain. Because the sad truth is, I loved you at fifteen and I don't think I ever stopped," she finishes, tears now falling uninhibited down her face. "It also seems that fate seems intent on shoving us together."

They share a chuckle and he cautiously takes the three steps to stand directly in front of her, his hands lifting and his brushing away the streaks of wetness. "Since we're confessing things, you should know that you've been in my head since Seattle. They started out as brief flashes when I'd walk down the street, swearing I'd seen you but you'd be gone the moment I blinked. Now, they've become these dreams I have at night where I can feel your skin against mine and I can smell you in my pillows and I'm a mess when I wake up and realize you've never been in my apartment much less my bed. And I miss you all the more for it."

She smiles weakly and the breath is nearly stolen from her as she realizes that the same wetness has formed on his cheeks, both thrilled and sad at the knowledge that she was the one to cause it. Leaning forward and placing her hands on his shoulder for support, she raises herself high enough to tenderly touch each streak the tears have made with her lips. When she finishes, she returns to her earlier stance and uncertainty of what his reaction will be—she might have crossed a line that she had no idea was in place—causes her to slip her bottom lip between her teeth like she used to as a nervous child.

Before the uncertainty becomes to overbearing and she feels the need to run away, his hands move down to grasp each side of his neck and his thumbs are making patterns on her pulse points. "Just try not to hit me again," he whispers teasingly right before his lips crash down on hers.

Hitting him is the last thing on her mind as her arms reclaim their rightful place around his neck and his hands drop to her waist, pulling her closer and lifting her to where the tips of her toes barely make contact with the ground. Their lips dance, their tongues duel. Moans and sighs can be heard as each tries to gain control over the other. The salt from their tears have mixed with the whiskey and the champagne both consumed and something else so indescribable that it could only be qualified as a taste unique to them. The tremors in his spine and legs are back, stronger than before, and he has to back against a wall before they cause his collapse. She can feel the ties on her soul and heart being cut and she feels lighter than she has in years.

They pull apart from the drugging sensations the kiss has caused within, not because they want to but because they have to if they want to breathe and live for another taste. Despite the fact that there is no need to, they keep their hold on one another as if both are afraid of the other disappearing if they were to let go. Justin peppers short chaste kisses on her eyes, her nose, her cheeks, and her lips, anything he can that will let her know that he will never leave her again. The fact that she is letting him instead of committing another violent act directed his way is proof that she is starting to believe it.

When they leave the janitor's closet, they are the epitome of what young lovers look like. And while they are nowhere near perfect—he will sometimes use her fear of him leaving against her in a fight, she will proceed to use his feelings of being a disappointment to retaliate—they will remain strong and work together to keep what they have. Because they both know what life apart feels like and neither wishes to return.

A week after the wedding that decided their fate, Justin and Harper returned to the Waverly Sub Station hand in hand. Jerry and Theresa Russo enveloped the woman who had been like a daughter to them at one point in time as they apologized for the bigger picture that went unseen. Max Russo simply shook his head with amusement at his older brother and wore a look on his face that made you wonder if he knew more than he was letting on. And then there was Alex Russo, who stole Harper and refused to let Justin anywhere near her best friend until she was certain there had been no coercion on his part. As for the rest of the world who wanted to know how the reclusive author who claimed to never have the desire to get married found her soul mate, it is simply written on the last page of the last book HJ Darling published.

How they fell in love was simply in three acts. Act one was that she had to learn to let him go. In act two, he realized that it was he all along who was still hanging on. And in act three, this was the most important so pay attention, as it is the last, they learned that they had made room for the future in letting go of all the mistakes of the past. For she was thirty-two when he stumbled upon her again and it is the only day that either of them can remember clearly.