“Did you give him your number?” The question came out slightly muffled, having dodged Beck’s mouthful of muffin.

“Not exactly.”

Suddenly it was a two-flanked stare-down as both Gabe and Beck stopped chewing to gaze at me, wide-eyed.

“What does that mean?” I imagined this was a joint question, but it was Beck who voiced it.

“He invited me out Thursday night, I said okay, we said good-bye.”

“But no phone number?” Gabe fired this one, and it occurred to me that I was being tag-teamed.

“No need. I know where to find him if I want to,” I told them simply. “And besides, he isn’t ‘the One.’ ”

I was conscious of Beck, frozen beside me, desperately wanting to press for details but holding it together because of Gabe.

“You didn’t give him your phone number, but you let him kiss you?” Gabe demanded, clearly puzzled.

“Oh, he was definitely the one for that.” I smiled, remembering with dreamy fondness that moment of weakness.

Gabe promptly turned to Beck and tattled, “This is classic Nic.”

Glancing first at me, Beck swiveled her eyes back to Gabe and countered, “How so?”

“She has this perception of the perfect, sensible match, and if a guy doesn’t look and act the part, it’s all over for him from ground zero.”

I took my time carving out another bite of waffle, swirling it in the syrup puddled on my plate. I answered before forking it into my mouth.

“He’s an aspiring musician, and his band is being showcased at South by Southwest.” I raised an eyebrow, daring either of them to challenge my decision.

“Are you kidding? That’s awesome.” This from Gabe.

Watching Gabe’s face light up with interest, I was suddenly curious. “His band is Loch’d In, with an ‘h.’ Ever heard of them?” I asked casually.

“Loch’d In? You’re kidding. That’s the Scottish band we saw on Friday night—the men with accents? Pretty big coincidence. He was at the wedding?”

“He was a stand-in for the band’s lead singer, who, apparently, was an imminent father-to-be.” My voice was hollow and distracted. I was remembering Friday night: sparring with Gabe, having just discovered my journal’s special bonus features. Had it been a coincidence? It seemed too big for that—too impossible to believe, as if worlds were colliding.

I couldn’t look at Beck, couldn’t risk meeting her eyes and losing it. Gabe, now focused on his plate and oblivious to the frenzy of unknowns clamoring in my head, asked. “So that’s it then? He’s out?”

“That’s it.”

“He’s the only guy you met?” Beck asked. “Him?”

“Only him,” I said, answering the unspoken question.

“You had to pick a guy with baggage—literally.” Gabe smirked.

Huh? Before I could ask Gabe what he was talking about, he pushed on with, “You have a chance here, Nic, to play with the cool kids, and as an engineer and a self-professed geek, you should jump on it.”

“I probably should object to that line of reasoning, but I’ve gotta side with Gabe on this one,” Beck said, spearing a chunk of pineapple and quirking her lips in friendly apology.

“Except that I’m not looking for cool, I’m looking for compatible.”

“Who’s to say he’s not?” Gabe was clearly rooting for this guy.

“Me!” Surely this should have been obvious. “We have nothing in common. And what about health insurance, a 401(k), job security. . . ?”

“First off, you don’t know he doesn’t have all that stuff. But even if he doesn’t, so what? Not everyone is on the fast track to a cushy retirement, Nic. And I’m guessing your main objection is that he’s not even on the sensible track. Face it, Nic,” he persisted, his smile smug, “you’re a snob.”

“I am not!” And then I wondered. Am I? I decided to concede the possibility. “Okay, maybe I am, but I’m not going to apologize for that. It’s my life.” And just like that, the fight went out of me. “It’s just not gonna work, okay?”

Gabe didn’t argue, merely quirked his lips in a rueful smile. I glanced over at Beck. She’d stayed quiet since the engineer jab, likely forming hypotheses of her own based on her insider knowledge of the journal and Fairy Jane. Or else just distracted by Gabe.

“Okay, so we’ve exhausted that topic,” I announced to the table at large. “Why don’t you go reload,” I suggested, gesturing to Gabe’s nearly empty plate, “and when you get back we’ll discuss the success of your evening. First date,” I informed Beck.

Flicking a quiet glance at Beck, Gabe slid obediently out of the booth. “You two coming?”

Beck looked down at her near-empty plate, but before she could answer, I swung my leg to smack against hers under the table, and like a pro, she looked up at Gabe and smiled. “Not yet.” So Gabe trailed off alone, none the wiser.

He wasn’t even a booth away when Beck whipped her attention back to me and whispered, “So is this true, a ruse, what? Tell me that you did not kiss a Scottish rocker, hand-picked by your fairy godmother no less, and send him on his merry way!”

“Shhhhhh! Yes, it’s true, but as I explained, he can’t have been the One. Fairy Jane must have been mistaken—or insane. Yes, he was charming and witty and sooo sexy, but he’s completely, inarguably ”—I drove this point home, hoping she’d concede the battle of wills before it began—“wrong for me.”

“How do you know it was him?”

“Take my word for it—it was definitely him.”

Her skepticism was clear, but she didn’t press it. “So really, that’s it?”

I looked away, confirming Gabe’s far-off location before falling back into the fray. “What do you mean exactly?”

“You’re just going to snub Fairy Jane and to hell with your one-of-a-kind magical journal?”

“I tried to snub her, last night after the wedding. I wrote another entry explaining why things with Sean would never work, explaining about The Plan ...”

“Oooh!” Beck had clearly put two and two together. “And she told you to pencil him in!” Her mouth fell open on a shocked smile. “I gotta say, I like the way she thinks. But how does she think you’re gonna manage that? You didn’t exchange phone numbers. Big mistake.” Seeing my glare, she added, “I’m just sayin’.”

“You’re right, we didn’t. Ergo, I will not be penciling him in. But I figure I’ll give her another shot. I even tried to steer her in the right direction.”

“You didn’t!” Beck demanded.

“Didn’t what?”

Beck and I jerked apart to stare up at Gabe as he slid into the booth with his second plate of food. He seemed to have an uncanny ability to horn in on secret powwows.

“You’re back,” Beck enthused. Her smile was winning, even in profile. “So tell me, where do you take a girl on a first date?” A little flirtatious drawl from Beck, and curiosity had clearly gone skittering from Gabe’s mind. The girl was good.

“Depends on the girl.” Very smooth, Gabe. “Last night we went to Eastside Café.”

“And is there a second date in your future?” I asked, wondering about Beck’s chances, pulling for them.

“All signs point to ‘hell no,’ ” he admitted, with a wry smile and a self-deprecating shrug.

Beck laughed. “Ahhh, the Magic Eight Ball. Ours was a love-hate relationship. I loved to ask, but invariably hated the answers. Same sob story with the Ouija board too.”

Gabe eyed her over the rim of his iced tea glass before informing us, “Well, you’ll love this. She was obsessed with The Amazing Race and was screening potential matches up front for their able-bodiedness, just in case.”

I couldn’t help it: I stopped chewing and stared, and when Gabe moved to shove another bite of food in his mouth, I lunged across the table to block him.

“Wait! Did you put on a good showing?”

Gabe lowered his fork, careful to look sufficiently put-upon. “I’m pretty sure I passed muster in the able-bodied department, just not in the willingness department.”

“You’re kidding. I would have thought you’d be into that.”

“I might have, but she was only interested in my body—and not in a good way. She all but pulled out a clipboard and measuring tape in the middle of dinner.”

I felt a giggle bubbling up but forcibly suppressed it.

“And after the busboy cleared the table, she actually wanted to arm wrestle.”

The mental picture this conjured was nearly too much for my self-control. I tipped my face down, feigning interest in my nearly empty plate.

“So did you?” Leave it to Beck to ask the million-dollar question. My head popped right back up again in my desperation to hear the answer.

Gabe swung his unreadable stare between the two of us, probably wondering how he’d ended up getting double-teamed, with hard-core participation from a complete stranger. Given what I’d just been through, I didn’t have a whole lot of sympathy for the guy.

“No. There wasn’t a lot of room, and besides, she’s ...”

“What?” Beck challenged. “A girl?”

I cut in. “Maybe in the interest of full disclosure, you should specify ‘Unwilling to submit to feats of strength’ in your profile,” I teased. I forked up a last bite of waffle. “Have there been any other recent matchups?” I probed.

Beck propped her elbow on the table and dropped her chin in her hand, apparently just as curious.

“As a matter of fact, I’m in the question-and-answer phase with a doctor,” he informed us, sounding distinctly stuffy. “And I wouldn’t mind a second opinion.” He grinned at his own pun, and with his eyes trained on Beck, it was obvious he didn’t require a third.

“A second opinion on what?” Beck asked, clearly up for whatever this brunch threw at her.

“Her get-acquainted question.”

“Let’s hear it,” she encouraged.

“She asked which three things I’d want with me if marooned on a desert island.”

“Not too original, but lots of potential there,” Beck allowed.

“I used to play that game with my grandfather,” I interjected. “My three things were a playhouse with working kitchen and bathroom, my favorite blanket, and a suitcase full of clothes.” I sipped my sour-sweet mimosa, proud of those long-ago, very sensible decisions.

“So math wasn’t your strong suit early in life, huh?” Gabe said with a smirk.

“What do you mean?”

“It never occurred to you that your tally went way beyond three things? Why didn’t you just tote along a luxury resort, complete with staff and swimming pool? Hell, why not a Super Walmart?”

“That’s not the same at all,” I protested, looking to Beck for a little backup. Her amused, slightly sympathetic expression told me I was on my own. “All right. What would you take, Jack Shephard?” I asked, laying on the sarcasm.

His teeth appeared in a flash of white—clearly I’d played right into his hands. “Okay, three things?” He propped his elbow on the table and made a show of ticking them off on his fingers. “One of those gadgets that can turn salt water into fresh drinking water, an inflatable raft—with oars, and an EPIRB.”

“What’s an ee-perb?” I asked, waspish even in ignorance.

“An emergency position indicating radiobeacon. It’s a device that can send out traceable signals to the Coast Guard and other rescue teams.”

I was speechless. For about two seconds. Then I blurted, “You know with the oars, you’re over three.”

Glancing over, I noticed that Beck was clearly impressed—with him—not so much with me.

“You’re definitely a nerd,” Beck said around a laugh, and I wondered if she was remembering her recently voiced opinion on nerds. “Very impressive,” she added, in a tone that confirmed she was indeed. “If your plan is to get off the island. If you want to stay, I think I’d go with sunblock, a toolkit—if you get oars, I get a toolkit—and a change of clothes. Not a big fan of the coconut bikini. Still, between the two of us, we’d be pretty well equipped.”

“What would the doctor bring?” I asked, interrupting the kickoff meeting of the mutual admiration society.

“She hasn’t responded since I sent back my answer.”

“Maybe a little EPIRB scared her off.”

But by the look of things it wasn’t scaring Beck, and Gabe definitely wasn’t spooked by Beck’s aura of pink. Leaving the lovestruck fiends to discover just what it was they were dealing with, I excused myself to score a cranberry-orange muffin.

Without distraction, my own heady, inescapable infatuation came frothing to the surface, and I wondered, crazily, if I could really walk away from magic. This whole situation was like my own personal fire swamp—I just had to get my bearings before I was sucked in or tackled by the R.O.U.S.’s. Blinking away delusions of The Princess Bride, I grabbed a little pod of butter and turned away from the buffet.