Maybe

Charlotte Blanchard caught sight of herself as she walked past the shop window, carrying her hopes and dreams in a brown paper bag. She'd splurged a bit, but maybe that alluring new cologne really would turn her into a captivating siren, and maybe the expensive cream that promised younger, smoother skin after only a single application would prove to be a bargain in the long run.

And maybe tonight would be the night that Joe finally saw her as more than a friend. Maybe tonight he would see her as a woman ready for love. Charlotte had recently read a book on the proper way to catch and hold a man. Be persistent, the book advised in situations like hers.

If he thinks of you only as a friend, devote two weeks to changing his mind. Pull out all the stops, and chase, chase, chase.

Ordinarily Charlotte would never go chasing after any man. It wasn't ladylike, in her opinion, but what did she know? At thirty-one, she'd never been married, had never even been involved in a serious romantic relationship, and if she didn't hurry up and find a husband, she'd probably end up a miserable old maid.

She'd resorted to buying herself a date with Joe tonight, more or less, picking up two tickets for the grand opening of a swank new art gallery in town, then making up a little fib about someone giving them to her, and wouldn't it be a shame to see them go to waste? Joe agreed to go to the opening with her.

A slinky little black dress waited at home, and in her shopping bag she had the latest shade of lipstick, the longest-lasting mascara, and a chic glittering blush designed to give a radiant look. Maybe Joe would actually notice her tonight. Charlotte sighed, dreaming of the night to come.

"Look out there!"

Lost in her world of dreams, Charlotte didn't see the man until after she'd collided with him. Her bag went flying out of her hands and crash-landed on the sidewalk. She winced at the sound of breaking glass.

"I'm so sorry," she said in a squeaky voice, bending down to retrieve her scattered purchases, picking up the dreams one by one. Two rolls of wintergreen breath mints veered off into the gutter, and the mascara slipped beneath her feet.

"Let me help you." The tall man smiled and bent down beside her. With care, he picked up the broken bottle of cologne. "Sweet Seduction," he whispered as the musky fragrance wafted around them. "I like it."

Charlotte's face flamed. How embarrassing to have her hopes and dreams exposed for this very handsome young man to see. She grabbed the jar of skin cream and plunged it back into the paper bag before he could lay his hands upon it.

"This is really my fault," he told her, still holding the broken cologne bottle. "I stepped right out in front of you. I'll give you the money to replace this."

"Oh, no! It wasn't your fault at all," Charlotte assured him. "I wasn't watching where I was going," she said with a sigh. "I've got a bad habit of letting myself get distracted easily." He knew so many of her secrets already, she might as well be honest with him, she figured. "Some of my friends say I'm a bit of a dreamer. Maybe they're right."

"Nothing wrong with that." The man drew himself up, then offered his hand to assist her. "My name's Eric Holbrook. I've just moved here a few days ago. I'm still learning my way around."

Say something, silly. Offer to show him around town. Make him feel welcome.

"It's nice to meet you," she finally stammered out, clutching her sack tightly.

"Are you sure I can't reimburse you for the Sweet Seduction?"

She blinked, then realized he meant the cologne. "I can't let you do that. It wasn't your fault, Eric."

"I feel bad though. But maybe a cappuccino would make me feel better. How about you?" His smile broadened to a playful grin. "If I could buy one for you, that would probably make me feel a lot better."

Blushing anew, Charlotte nodded. "I'd like that."

They strolled down the block to a coffee shop and settled in together at a cozy booth. As they sipped their beverages, they talked, chatting easily about things they enjoyed. After they'd finished their cappuccinos, they strolled to the park, still chatting.

"Classical music, eastern philosophies, Greek drama." Eric ticked the topics off on his fingers. "We seem to have a lot in common."

"Yes, it seems we do," Charlotte agreed.

"What about contemporary art? I hear there's a new gallery opening tonight."

Charlotte's breath suddenly caught in her throat as she remembered Joe and her special date. Joe? Special? He was really nothing more than a friend, and that's all he ever would be. Why had she wasted her time -- and money -- chasing after him?

Eric looked down at her. "I don't suppose you'd consider going to the gallery with me this evening, would you? I mean, I know we've just met, but we do seem to get along, don't you think?"

Charlotte bit her lip to keep from crying out. Her heart beat erratically as her mind searched for some plausible excuse for breaking off her date with Joe. Maybe she could feign a sudden headache, or maybe she could tell Joe she had to visit a sick aunt. Or maybe . . .

She sighed. "I wish I could, Eric, but I'm afraid I've already got plans for tonight."

"Oh, well, maybe I could call you," he suggested.

"Maybe so."

Eric nodded. "Well, guess I'd better be going. I didn't mean to take up so much of your time."

"Oh, I didn't mind at all. I enjoyed it." Charlotte smiled, but her heart had already begun to ache. When Eric waved and turned away, she nearly burst into tears.

Maybe he really will call.

Charlotte gasped, realizing she'd never even given him her number. Worse still, she hadn't even told him her name. She looked after him, hoping she would be able to catch him, but Eric had disappeared into the crowd. Charlotte knew she would never see him again.

But she would be seeing Joe, she reminded herself. The thought no longer brought any thrill.

At seven o'clock that evening, Charlotte waited patiently for Joe to arrive. Maybe he would stand her up. She almost hoped it would happen.

When the bell sounded a few minutes later, she sucked in a deep breath, brushed a non-existent speck of lint from her slinky black dress, and answered the door.

She could not believe her eyes.

"Eric? I never expected to see you again." She looked at him in astonishment. "I forgot to give you my phone number. Actually, I even forgot to give you my name. How did you find me?"

He gazed down at her, obviously bewildered. "Charlotte? Charlotte Blanchard?"

"Yes, but how did you know that?"

"I didn't." He laughed.

Charlotte had no idea what he found so funny, but she laughed too.

"You had a date tonight with Joe Watters, right?"

"Yes, but --"

"But he really hates contemporary art, you know. He sends his apologies, by the way."

"He's begging off?" Charlotte grinned. "But, how did you --?"

"I'm Joe's cousin. I'm staying with him until I find a place of my own. I told him I wanted to go to the gallery, and he suggested I take his place. I hope you're not too disappointed."

Disappointed? The thought never crossed Charlotte's mind.

"I'll admit," Eric continued, "I wasn't looking forward to the idea of a blind date, but in the end, the chance to go to the gallery opening was too good to miss."

"I hope this will be one blind date you do enjoy," she told him. "I'm glad you decided to go."

As they stepped out into the night, arm in arm, Eric turned to Charlotte. "Isn't it a bit odd how we met this morning and then almost missed our chance together? Yet, here we are. Do you think fate had a hand in it?" Charlotte smiled. "Maybe so, Eric, maybe so."