Desperately Seeking Mr. Right (Destined For Love: Europe)

by Sally Johnson

  I jumped up and turned to see a familiar face from the flight and the shuttle. It was the Red Sox baseball cap guy with my black suitcase—a beautiful sight to behold. He looked even more attractive in the daylight. He was at least six feet tall with brown, wavy hair that stuck out from under his backwards cap. His deep brown eyes had dark lashes, and his smile was inviting. Although, I had to admit, his rumpled look on the plane wasn’t too shabby.

  He cocked his head to the side. “You look familiar.”

  My breath caught in my throat as I hesitated, wondering if he was going to bring up the show. “People tell me that all the time,” I said. I gave a small laugh and tucked some hair behind my ear.

  He snapped his fingers. “I know…”

  My pulse quickened.

  Oh no.

  After being on a dating reality show, I was constantly recognized and came to despise my fame. Some strangers thought they knew me from a few spliced episodes, and they treated me accordingly. Some nice, some not so nice.

  “You were on my flight!”

  I carefully exhaled, then dragged my fingers through my hair and brushed at my unpainted cheeks, sure my appearance was doing little to compliment me.

  “Same flight and same hotel? Weird,” I commented. A strange, yet wonderful, coincidence.

  “Don’t forget that shuttle ride we shared,” he laughed.

  “What are the chances we’d be staying in the same hotel?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “What can I say? I got a great Groupon deal.”

  This time I laughed. “We must’ve gotten the same deal because that’s the only way I’d be able to afford a hotel like this. Nice to officially meet you. I’m Phoebe Bryan, but you probably already know that from my luggage.” I held out my hand.

  He shook it and smiled warmly. “Nice to meet you too. As my luggage revealed, I’m Bryan. Bryan Edwards.”

  “And here is your bag.” I reached for his luggage and dragged it closer. “I promise everything’s in there.”

  He chuckled as we exchanged bags. Then we stood there for a moment in awkward silence.

  He looked around the lobby, then motioned between the two pillars to the left of us. “Can I invite you to join me for breakfast? As a reward for the safe return of my suitcase, of course. I hear the hotel offers a nice array of fresh fruit, pastries, and coffees.”

  I considered my hair and my appearance. “Yes. I would like that.”

  “Great.” He smiled and held an arm out in the direction of the breakfast buffet.

  “But I would really like to change and clean up, now that I have my suitcase back. I mean, I look bad enough that a hotel employee thought I was homeless and asked me to leave.”

  “Seriously?” He glanced at my outfit.

  “I am completely serious. But”—I held up my hand with the certificates—“I got two breakfast comps out of it, so breakfast is on me, courtesy of him.” I pointed in the direction of the front desk. “All thanks to the shabby chic look I’m rocking.”

  “Let’s do it,” he said. “How about I meet you back here. How much time do you need?”

  “Ah, thirty minutes.” In that time, I could take the world’s fastest shower and at least do something with my hair.

  “Sounds good.”

  “Okay, great!” I left him in the lobby and scurried toward the elevator and toward my room, my suitcase wobbling precariously and nearly tipping on its wheels. I ran down the hallway of my floor, anxious for a shower, fresh clothes, and some makeup.

  I stripped down, jumped in the shower, and washed in double time. The hot steam helped relieve some of the frazzle I had accumulated over the last day. I really wished I could have enjoyed it longer, but I had a pending breakfast date with a handsome stranger.

  I felt more confident returning to the lobby. My hair was still damp but pulled back into a smooth ponytail. The feel of clean clothes, deodorant, and makeup made me feel human again.

  Bryan was waiting in the lobby as I stepped off the elevator. He had also cleaned up and was wearing jeans and a plain white t-shirt with a pocket. By the way the t-shirt fit snug across his chest and hugged his biceps, I guessed he visited the gym regularly. I also noticed a black and white beaded bracelet around his wrist.

  “Hi,” Bryan said as he approached. “Ready?”

  “Yes.” I smiled.

  “I was hoping you’d wear that pink shirt from your bag,” he said.

  I looked down at the blue t-shirt I had on, then realized he meant something else. My brows knitted together. “The pink one?” The realization hit me: he probably rummaged through my suitcase before realizing it wasn’t his. And while I felt vulnerable, knowing he might have touched my clothes, I almost mentioned that I was hoping he’d wear his kilt. But that might seem too much like flirting.

  He cleared his throat. “Sorry, that sounded questionable. I unzipped your suitcase before I realized it wasn’t mine, and there was that pink t-shirt on top—the one that said, ‘I saw that. – Karma.’ Is there a story behind that shirt?”

  “It was a gift,” I explained, feeling a wave of heat on my face. “My friend challenged me to post a picture of myself wearing it online.”

  His eyebrow lifted. “So, it was a dare?”

  “You could say that.”

  “Well, did you do it?”

  I wasn’t sure if I wanted to go there. It was supposed to be a message to Joshua, the bachelor on Desperately Seeking Mrs. Right. I was hurt and upset and mad at him. But posting that picture would have caused speculation. People who watched the show would probably see it and start a new firestorm I wasn’t ready to handle. I wanted to avoid the media and the fallout from the show. And although I found the shirt funny as it applied to Joshua, I couldn’t wear it—at least not any place other than to bed. “No. Definitely not. And I worry if I wore it to an all-you-can-eat breakfast buffet, Karma would retaliate by having me gain ten pounds on vacation.”

  “Ah, that’s not Karma,” he said lightly. “That’s just a sad reality of life.”

  “And on that note, let’s eat.”

  We shared a smile and entered the restaurant.

  This hotel did not skimp on their buffet. Everything looked wonderful—better than the continental breakfasts at other hotels where I had stayed. I wanted to try everything and didn’t realize how much I had loaded up my plate until I sat at the table. In contrast, Bryan’s plate had some melon slices and two pieces of wheat toast.

  My gaze moved between his plate and my own. “I don’t know about you, but I’m starving,” I announced. “I haven’t eaten since those pretzels on the flight yesterday.” I whipped my napkin open and placed it across my lap, then lightly grasped my silverware with my pinkies extended.

  My exaggerated propriety was rewarded with a smile. He put down his fork and took a sip of water. “I have a small confession,” he said after he swallowed.

  “You purposely switched the suitcases just so you could meet me, didn’t you?” I munched on a piece of bacon, then remembered that I was the one who had grabbed the wrong bag.

  He shook his head quickly and smirked. “I already had breakfast.”

  I stopped munching. “Here?”

  “Yes.”

  “It was so good you wanted to come back for seconds?” I held my breath, waiting for his answer.

  He creased and re-creased his napkin. “Actually, when I saw it was you in the lobby, I wanted an excuse to get to know you. So I asked you to breakfast.”

  My heart fluttered. “I’m flattered.” His confession made my morning. I wasn’t sure if it was my charm or my jet-lagged look that inspired his invitation. The perks of looking homeless.

  He lowered his voice. “I have another confession to make.”

  My flutteri
ng heart instantly felt heavy. I tried to detect what was coming. After his good confession, I wondered if the next one would be bad. Is he married? Gay? Taken? I glanced at his ring finger, which was bare, and leaned forward a little. “Ok, what is it?”

  “I wish I had talked to you on the airplane. I saw you, and kept wanting to say something or start up a conversation but didn’t. And that family was so loud on the shuttle, I thought it would be hard to carry on a conversation. I was kicking myself all the way to the hotel. When I saw you today with my suitcase, I knew this was my second chance. I’m sorry I already ate, but I didn’t know if I’d get another opportunity.”

  Relief flooded through me, and my shoulders relaxed. “It was kind of difficult to do much of anything on that shuttle with that crazy family,” I said.

  “Exactly. Although, it’s not any better of an excuse. I chickened out.”

  “Since we’re making confessions and all, I also have a confession.”

  He leaned toward me. “Did you take my bag on purpose so you could meet me?”

  A laughed escaped. “No.”

  “Then what is it?”

  I looked down at my napkin and smoothed it. I could feel the heat on my cheeks. “I’m glad you invited me to breakfast.”

  Bryan let out a sigh of relief and ran his hands through his hair. “I’m glad we got that out of the way.”

  “So—um—what brings you to London, Bryan?” I popped a couple grapes in my mouth while waiting for his answer.

  “Work. I have a convention in Scotland in a few days. I’d thought I’d make the most of it and visit London since it’s so close. How about you?”

  I paused as I considered how much to tell him. “I needed a vacation, and London seemed like a good idea.” It was close enough to the truth. “You know—out of the country but still English speaking. I’m forcing myself to spread my wings without being too far out of my comfort zone.”

  “Didn’t Audrey Hepburn say something like that? I think my sister used to have a sign in her bedroom.”

  “I think she said Paris was always a good idea, but close enough.”

  We shared a laugh, then slipped back into silence.

  The silence was short lived, and I felt the need to carry the conversation. “What is the convention for?” I asked.

  He ducked his head before glancing back up at me. “Would you believe kilts?”

  “What? Like skirts?” Like the one in your suitcase.

  His chest puffed. “They are not skirts. They are traditional Scottish wear. And—ah—rumor has it they are very comfortable.” The corners of his mouth twitched.

  “Oh, rumor has it? Do you know this from first-hand experience but don’t want to admit it?”

  He pressed his lips together but finally broke out in a smile. “Yes, I’ve worn them.”

  “And?” I paused briefly, waiting. “What’s the verdict? Comfortable? Better than yoga pants?”

  Another smile. “Personally, I’ve never worn yoga pants.”

  The mental image of a guy in yoga pants popped into my head. I stifled a giggle. “Ok then, sweats?”

  He chuckled. “Let’s just say I only wear a kilt for special occasions.”

  “Like the convention?” Now I pictured a bunch of hunky men crowding around booths, fighting for free samples and raving over tartan.

  He nodded. “Precisely.”

  “I’ve never met a kilt-wearing man before. Are you required to wear a kilt to the kilt convention?” I conjured another mental image—him wearing khakis and being denied entrance to the convention. I suppressed a smile.

  “No, it’s not a requirement,” he chuckled. “Someday, when you have nothing better to do, Google ‘kilt conventions.’ I promise you’ll find all sorts of interesting things to read and learn more than you ever wanted to know about kilts.”

  “Well, I guess I’ll have to check that out. Maybe on my way back to the States.”

  “What day do you leave?”

  It took me a few seconds to remember what day it was. “I’m here for almost eight days. And you?”

  “I have five days in London, then three days in Scotland.” He set down his fork and our eyes met. “Any chance you got the double-decker bus sightseeing tour with your deal? There’s one leaving in”—he checked his watch—“thirty-five minutes. I mean—that is—if you don’t already have plans.”

  My heartbeat quickened. Whatever was happening between us was moving fast. I asked myself what was a good decision, or the right decision, or the rational decision to make. But on the other hand, I didn’t want to think. I had spent the past few months thinking and overthinking, and this was something different. It’s just a friendly tour around London, I told myself. With a stranger—a nice stranger. And between the openness of sites and the crowds, I wouldn’t technically be alone with him, so there was nothing to worry about. Besides, I was ready to move on.

  I nodded. “As a matter of fact, I did get that voucher. I’d like that.”

  “Great! I just have a couple of things to get in my room. What do you say we meet back here in fifteen minutes?”

  I had to stop myself from grinning too widely. “Perfect.”

  My European vacation just became a lot more attractive.

  Chapter Three

  Promptly fifteen minutes later, Bryan showed up at our now-familiar meeting place in the lobby with a backpack slung over one shoulder. I tried to fight the urge to smile and failed miserably.

  “Ready?” he asked.

  “Let’s do it.”

  He motioned with his hand toward a table and bench, and we both sat down. He swung his back pack off, unzipped the front pocket, and pulled out a map. “Where should we go first?”

  “A map? Do people still use these?” I was curious about his choice of navigation.

  “I know—kind of an ancient method. But it’s easier to see the whole city all at once and plan. The bus tour allows us to hop on and off.”

  “That makes sense.”

  Bryan began unfolding his map but then opened his hand. “I think my hand sanitizer is leaking, and it—ugh—it’s all over the map.” He looked around the lobby before standing up. “I’ll be right back. I’m going to get some paper towels from the restroom.”

  He returned almost immediately and placed a pile of paper towels on the table. He pulled out the culprit bottle of hand sanitizer before unloading the remaining things in the pocket, which included a small bottle of Advil, a pocket-sized paperback book, and some British coins. As he set the items on the table, I picked up a paper towel and reached for the bottle of Advil.

  He immediately stopped cleaning the inside of the pocket. “It’s okay. I got this.” His hand hovered protectively over the bottle.

  Strange. “Oh, okay. Is there something else I can do?”

  “I appreciate you helping—just not with this.” He set the bottle at the corner of the table closest to him. To add to the awkwardness of the moment, I didn’t hear any clattering of pills.

  He was obviously possessive of his headache medicine, so I changed the subject. “Is your map ruined?” I asked.

  “Some of the ink ran, but it only got on one side.” He held up the map so I could see. The map was doused in bright colors, webs of lines, and markings. I could only make out a few large parks and the Thames River running through the city. With his finger, he circled the blurred edge of the city. “This looks like it got most of the damage, so I can’t suggest we visit this area.”

  I picked it up the small book from the table, titled Nine Must-See Sights You Must See, and thumbed through it. “That’s quite an original title.”

  He shrugged. “It was an impulse buy.”

  “Is it any good?”

  He gave a shy smile and took the bo
ok from me. “Actually, it’s terrible. It’s very basic, and I learned more on Google.” He tossed the book aside. “What places do you have in mind?”

  I had a whole list of things I wanted to see that I had been adding to and revising since I made my reservations. “I have a few things—mostly typical tourist spots: the London Eye, the Tower of London, the Tower Bridge, Buckingham Palace, Hyde Park, Harrods, the Covent Gardens, Piccadilly Circle, and Notting Hill.” I reviewed my mental Rolodex. “Oh, and I want to see some plays and ride the Underground.”

  Bryan whistled. “That’s quite a list.”

  “I’m obviously not planning on accomplishing it all in one day.”

  “Well, you’ve covered all the major places on my list. So, according to the map…” His voice trailed as he smoothed the wrinkled map against the table. There were a couple of circles drawn in Sharpie. “Okay, we can do the bridges, Parliament, and Big Ben since they are all kind of by each other, or”—he pointed his finger to another section—“Hyde Park, Buckingham Palace, and Harrods.”

  I thought about it, exhilarated that we had places in common. “It’s a nice day to walk around. How about Parliament and Big Ben”—I stabbed my finger on one of the circles—“and the bridge right by there?”

  “Sure. Ready?” Bryan folded up the map and stuffed it back into his bag along with the other items.

  I stood up. “Yes. Let’s go.”

  Bryan held the door for me as we left the hotel. As we emerged into the humid air, we were immediately accosted by London: the smell of diesel, the chatter of British tongues, the sound of a strange police siren wailing around us. Despite the linguistic and cultural similarities, this world I stepped into still seemed so distant, so foreign and old—but not the old I was used to. I was from Delaware, which—while an original colony—was still new, still a baby compared to London. London was a very different type of old, boasting of castles and buildings etched in history. Despite its age, it was bustling. It was busier than the small coastal town where I lived. I was surrounded by this world so different from my own. I couldn’t help but beam. Maybe it was the electricity of possibility that had me buzzing. London. Vacation. A nice, attractive man with whom to go sightseeing.