3. Luke

Iyawned and stretched, the sun pouring in through the gaps in my bedroom window blinds.

“Ah, fuck,” I mumbled, “I forgot to close the curtains yesterday.”

I stumbled out of bed and yanked the curtains over the window, blocking out the obnoxious sun. I was too awake now to even consider the thought of another hour or two, though, so I threw the sheets back over my bed in a messy attempt to make it and grabbed my phone from the nightstand.

My friends told me to quit working a night shift and find a “normal” job, and out loud I agreed with them. I should get a different job. Wouldn’t it be great to work and live on the same schedule as everyone else?

But deep down, I secretly enjoyed my nocturnal life. There was something mysterious and intriguing about the dark and what might be lurking in the shadows just out of eyesight. Sometimes I wished I were a cat so I could see better in the dark. Other times I considered buying night vision goggles, which would be way easier than figuring out how to become a cat shifter.

Instead, I made do with my inferior vision and went about my nights working in the silence of a near-empty hotel, checking giggling couples and over-exhausted business people into their rooms.

I stifled another yawn and shuffled out of my bedroom in search of a cup of coffee, rubbing my eyelids with my fingers. I would have to make the coffee for myself if I wanted it, one of the many cons of being a single man with no intention of leaving the house until late afternoon at least. No one wanted to deal with me before I had my first cup of coffee, not even myself.

It was the weekend, which was a small consolation, but beyond that, I didn’t have much to look forward to over the rest of the day. The only thing that perked me up aside from a piping hot mug of coffee was the sound of the mail carrier leaving my porch.

“I wonder what that could be?” I mumbled, getting up from the dining room table to check, coffee still in hand. “I never get mail.”

It was true. No one I knew sent letters anymore and the few pieces of junk mail associated with my last address stayed at that place.

I plucked the letter from the floor beneath the door’s mail slot and turned it over in my hand, becoming more confused the longer I examined it. It looked like an artifact from Victorian times: the envelope was thick and yellowed, the lettering was more a filigreed typeface than real handwriting, and it was sealed shut with red wax with a bat embossed in the center.

For a moment, I thought it was an elaborate marketing scheme. Some businesses were resorting to some wacky campaigns and this one was clever enough to get me to open it, so I guess it worked. As soon as I set my coffee down and unfolded the letter, however, I realized just how wrong I’d been.

“The library!” I exclaimed, reading the tiny, cursive text carefully. “This is my first match from my application. I wasn’t expecting it to come in a letter, though.”

I’d waited for six long months since first putting in an application for matchmaking services at the library. The Librarian warned me at the time that it might take a while, but after the first couple of months, I began to lose hope altogether. I wanted a date, not the perfect fantasy that didn’t exist.

A month ago, I considered returning to the library and withdrawing my application so I could focus on pursuing someone outside of the matchmaking services. I made it to the lot, but I never went inside. I couldn’t bring myself to give up quite so easily, and what harm would it do to let things be? I’d made the right decision because I now had a date tonight at 9 pm today.

“That’s kind of late,” I said to myself, rechecking the time to make sure I hadn’t misread it. “Maybe this is his way of being able to cut the date off early if it doesn’t go well.”

It didn’t matter much to me. It would be easier for me to stay awake late into the night than if my mystery date had chosen 9 in the morning instead. I hadn’t even seen the clock read 9 am since before I started my job working nights.

I spent the rest of the afternoon preparing for my date, jumping nervously between the thought that this guy would be perfect for me and that it probably wouldn’t work out in the end despite the Librarian’s promises. It was hard to balance two ends of the spectrum like that, and by the time I needed to leave the house, my nerves had all but flared up again.

Was this the one? Was I really about to meet the love of my life? Whether I was ready or not, the time had come to find out.