Brandon just arched a brow. “Have you been out with anybody since you bought that thing?”
“Well, no. But things were busy with the holidays, and January is always a busy month at work, and I…” He trailed off at his friend’s bland stare.
Maybe he had avoided seeking out a date since December. But the search for his mystery woman had captured his imagination. How would a potential date react if he talked about it, as he inevitably would? What normal guy did what he’d done? No normal guy was the truth of it. Normal guys didn’t have the discretionary income to indulge in such a crazy gesture.
“I think you’ve built her up in your mind,” said Brandon. “Got this whole damsel in distress thing going on and you the knight in armor and all that. It’s a thing with you, that whole addiction to rescuing people.”
“So long as he’s not taking crazy risks with life and limb, I don’t see how that’s a bad addiction,” countered Isabelle. “Though I can see how that might put you in a position to be taken advantage of yourself.”
Brandon threw out a hand in a See? gesture. “Thank you.”
Everett glared. “I’m hardly some bumbling rube without an ounce of common sense.”
“No, you’re just determined to see the best in people.” Brandon held up a hand for peace before Everett could respond. “I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with that. But not everybody’s as nice as you.”
“So let me get this straight. I’m supposed to give up on finding the woman who sold this ring, stop being nice to everybody, and go out and find somebody to date?”
“I never said you should stop being nice to people. But yeah, I think you need to come to grips with the fact you may never find this woman.”
“Well, I’ve got an alternative plan,” said Isabelle.
Everett lifted his sake. “I’m game to hear it.”
“You know how when you’re looking for something and can’t find it, it’s not until you stop looking and go do something else that it pops up? Maybe you going out with somebody else will work like that for you. And if it doesn’t, then you still might meet Miss Right.”
“You happily engaged couples keep trying to marry everybody off,” accused Everett.
Isabelle laid a hand over his. “We just want to see you happy.”
Everett sighed. “It’s hard to argue with that.”
She smiled. “You should check out online dating. My friend Leah met her guy through Perfect Chemistry. And indirectly, that’s how I met Brandon.”
“Fine. I concede your point. I’ve tried everything else, so I might as well try not looking and see what happens.”
/>
“I don’t believe you,” said Brandon.
“No? Fine. Just to prove my seriousness, I will sit here and fill out the stinking profile from my phone for your approval.”
It took a while between juggling conversation, ordering, eating the soup and salad, but by the time the chef was done with their little show, Everett had finished. He handed the phone over. “There. See?”
“Good man. Now let’s see what kind of matches the site comes up with.”
Everett rolled his eyes as Brandon began playing with the screen.
“It’s given you seven matches right off.”
“Possibly because they are the only available women in our area, in the age range, who have profiles on the site,” suggested Everett.
Brandon ignored that. “Let’s see. There’s Anne. Age 26. Oooh, a red-head veterinarian. You’re an animal lover. That could be a good pair. Then there’s Lina. She’s a brunette. Age 30. She’s a ski instructor.” He tapped some more. “Oh, here we go. This one is an art lover with an addiction to Mexican food. Quite a looker, too.” Brandon passed the phone back.
And there she was, staring out at him from the screen. It was a three/quarters profile shot. Casual. Someone had caught her on the verge of a smile as she stood on a trail somewhere in the red parka he’d been looking for all this time. Her eyes were hazel, long-lashed and bracketed by laugh lines.
“Holy shit,” breathed Everett.
“What?” asked Brandon.