Andrews strode into the room they called the “Plenty-of-Fishbowl“. Everyone could see into the room. It was reminiscent of the detectives’ offices you see on TV and the movies, basically made of nothing but glass. “Okay, what’s the file on this guy?”

Mike Harrison opened up the generic manila folder and began to recite the facts as they were put to paper. “Thirty-nine, single, never married, no kids. Interesting history. He’s lived on both coasts and places in between as well as in the UK. Dual national, you see. Loves different cultures and works as a sign language interpreter. A sensitive sort. Once wrote a little piece about a couple meeting at a coffee shop in New England. Our guy picked it off the Internet before it disappeared. Strikes me as being something of an old-fashioned romantic. You know, really struggles with busting a move on the woman he’s been trying so hard not to stare at? Like he should have brought flowers just in case or something.”

Andrews shot him a look that said, “Back to the point.”

He continued using pronouns sparsely, a habit that drove Andrews nuts. “Camper, hiker, biker, theatre-going shutterbug. A real jeans to tux, jack-of-all-trades kind of guy. Seems like it’s been more ‘jeans’ than ‘tux’ recently. He’s loved the Red Sox since ’75. Woulda been six. Hasn’t had the conventional life and he’s lived a lot. Having said all that, a simple guy having traveled a complex road to get there.”

“Rather poetic, Harrison,” intoned Andrews. “Let’s get to brass tacks. What’s your assessment?”

“Ultimately wants marriage and kids but at this point is good with just having friends.”

Andrews, having a vested interest in the proceedings (and being a decent poker player) had developed good intuition when something was being held back. This wasn’t a time to let it slide. “You’re not telling me something. What is it?”

Harrison smiled. “Nothing weird, wacky or shocking. Relax. He’s just worth meeting.”

“Yes, well, that’s the entire point, isn’t it?” Andrews retort was simply to buy time to recover from the shock that the man being described by Harrison was actually granted a pronoun.

“Well, fine, Mike, what’s he looking for?”

“That’s kind of the point, too. Not a simple guy. How do you narrow the world down to a paint-by-numbers scene?”

“Mike, c’mon.”

“Okay, he did say she ‘works on ‘walking in beauty”. Described it as being attractive physically, mentally, emotionally and spiritually. Said he knew he was like every other human but wanted the challenges in order to grow. Wants her to grow from being with him, too. Said, ‘Courage, femininity and adventure.”. Wants a woman who could do the hiking boots-to-heels thing.”

Andrews sized Harrison up in preparation for the next comment. “He doesn’t want much, does he?”

“He figured that she’d want it all, too.”

Andrews grinned and thought she should meet him herself.

Having digested the international news, he sought the sports section. His beloved Red Sox were having a tough stretch although he could finally say he saw them win the World Series - twice. He put down the front section and froze before picking up the sports. A sensation like fingertips stroking him manifested on the back of his neck, reminding him of an ancient promise. He turned.

Her destination was the small park across the street. She intended to simply sit and drink her tea, letting the events of the past few days wash over her and be gone. A figure seated outside caught her attention, almost in spite of herself. She didn't really see him with her eyes. Rather, every sense, every fiber told her of impending destiny as if some gentle spirit had whispered into her heart. She opened the door.

Instantly, nothing else existed. They had seen each other, been with each other, tasted, smelled, touched each other before. Neither could place it. She kept moving towards the park, hoping this was the man she was to meet. He kept watching her, each being joyfully trapped by the others' eyes...

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