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But he ruined this, not me. And I’ve got to remember that. Which is exactly why I am going to go meet the man from LookingForLove.com, because even a platonic relationship with respect in it is better than a romantic relationship without it.
***
I knew the restaurant would be packed even before I set foot inside it. I had to drive around the parking lot four times, up and down the rows of vehicles, before I finally found a parking spot. Inside, there was a crowd of people huddled by the doorway, waiting for their names to be called to snatch up the next free table.
It hadn’t occurred to me until now to ask whether he’d made a reservation or not. God, I hoped so. But I had no way of asking the hostess if there was, in fact, one because I didn’t know the man’s real name. I somehow didn’t think he’d be odd enough to make the reservation under EyesAreEverything.
Instead of asking questions, I decide to take a glance around the restaurant. Maybe I could somehow discern if anyone had a pair of eyes that matches the profile picture I’d been staring at for the past few weeks.
There are people everywhere. Tables are pulled together in one area to make room for a gathering of at least twenty people, and there are chairs pulled up to numerous tables so more people can fit at the end of the booth or in between other chairs at the more open tables. So many people, so much laughter and smiling and chattering going on.
That’s why it’s so easy to pick out the guy sitting at one of the tables in the far corner of the room. He’s by himself, his head down as his eyes look over the menu but don’t seem to really take in the words on it. He isn’t smiling or laughing like everyone else, and there’s only one chair pulled up to the small table he’s sitting at, the one across from him that remains empty, with a menu and set of utensils set up on the table in front of it.
He’s waiting for someone, too.
But as he senses the intensity of my stare from across the room and raises his head to meet my gaze, I wish the floor would open up and swallow me whole.
Because Brody is sitting at a table for two, waiting patiently for his date to arrive.
And that date isn’t me.
He’s up and out of his chair before I’ve even managed to turn around completely and bolt for the door. I’m distraught and my movements are hasty, spurred on by my impending meltdown. I barely see the large, balding man who’s rising from his chair to shuffle into his jacket before I run smack into him.
“Oh, Jesus, I’m sorry,” I stammer, trying to get around him. But my clumsiness has allowed Brody the time needed to catch up to me, and his hand manages to come down on my forearm to stop me from running farther away.
“Corinne, what are you doing here?”
I whirl around, pulling out of his grasp angrily. “You don’t have any right to ask me that,” I snap. “But if you must know, I’m waiting for some—”
My gaze burns into his, and suddenly I notice something in the way the overhead lighting reflects in Brody’s eyes. The blue hue—piercing blue with flecks of grayish silver, a combination I’ve only ever seen in a picture.
On LookingForLove.com.
“Son of a bitch,” I hiss under my breath. Unable to tear my eyes away from his, unable to figure out how in the hell I didn’t see it until right now. “You’re him,” I murmur. “You’re EyesAreEverything.”
“And you’re LaughLoudLiveQuiet,” he says quietly with a crooked grin. “I know.”
“You knew?” I exclaim, my eyes widening.
; “Only since last night, Corinne, I swear.” He looks unsure of himself, fearful I might slap him or go off the rails in this restaurant. “Jackson made a comment when I confronted him, something about your own personal motto. It clicked. That’s when I knew I had to go through with this meetup.”
My mind is racing, catapulting so many thoughts and things I want to scream at him that I’m not even sure where to start. But there’s one thing that stands out, one thing my brain manages to cling to long enough to let it surface above everything else. “You were going to cancel,” I say dumbly. “Because of me.”
The words of the message I’d received from his username come back to me clearly, because I’d pondered what it must be like to meet someone you were that sure of, that enamored by.
I have met someone. A really, really amazing woman. She’s completely unexpected. She’s also completely wonderful. I don’t think it would be fair to meet someone else at this point in time, not to you and not to her. I’m just not that kind of guy.
Brody nods. “I meant it when I told you I was someone you could trust, Corinne.” His hands reach out instinctively as though to touch me, but he stops, a tentative edge to his expression. “I know Jackson tried to break that trust, but I confronted him. I told him in no uncertain terms—”
“He texted me,” I interject, swallowing down the lump forming in my throat. “Seven times, to be exact. Because I wouldn’t respond. He said he needed to make sure I understood that he lied and that none of what he’d said to me was true. I figured you must have had something to do with his change of heart.”
“It was me, yes.” He smirks down at me. “And the countless threats to do bodily harm to him if he didn’t tell you himself.”
“Again, I figured as much.” My lips are pursed to suppress the amusement that wants to show through, purely because I’m not sure I’m ready to forgive him just yet. “I can’t believe it’s been you on the other end of that stupid dating site the entire time.”
“Believe me, I just about fell over when I realized we’d been talking to each other, too,” he admits, chuckling quietly.
