ALEC107: I can respect that. Most women who get on this site usually put everything out there without regard for their safety. I like that you’re protecting yourself. But I can’t help but wonder what you look like. It doesn’t seem fair since I’m sure you’ve already looked at my profile picture.
ANONYMOUS: You mean your fake photo?
ALEC107: Fake?
ANONYMOUS: There’s no way that’s you.
ALEC107: And why is that?
ANONYMOUS: Because that guy in the photo is hot and pretty normal looking.
ALEC107: And what am I? Abnormal because I have different sexual preferences than you do?
ANONYMOUS: I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sorry. That sounded extremely judgmental and that wasn’t what I meant.
ALEC107: What is normal? Are you normal?
ANONYMOUS: No. It’s just that . . . I don’t know. I guess I have you stereotyped, if I’m being completely honest. In fact, you’re easy to talk to, which I didn’t expect. Again, preconceived perception and all. I didn’t mean to offend you.
ALEC107: I appreciate your honesty. You admitted to being vanilla, which is far from my world, but just because we are different doesn’t mean one of us is normal and the other abnormal.
ANONYMOUS: I agree.
I stew in my foot-in-mouth moment, and after a long pause, he finally messages back.
ALEC107: So . . . you think I’m hot?
Oh, God. I can’t believe I said that. But for all I know, it could still be a fake picture.
ANONYMOUS: No. I said the guy in the photo was hot. How do I know that’s even you?
Another long pause.
ANONYMOUS: Are you there?
No response. After another minute passes, I’m about to exit out of the chat room when I see he’s sent a file that I need to download.
ALEC107: Open it.
I click on the file icon, and as soon as it downloads, a photo appears on my screen of the same guy that’s in his profile picture. But, he proves himself to be legit as he’s holding a piece of paper with today’s date on it along with a note that reads: To my new friend, Victoria, who doesn’t like ass eating.
Holy shit! It’s really him. He wears a big smile on his face that crinkles in shallow wrinkles at the corners of his blue eyes. His hair is a dark brown that’s graying throughout. He’s wearing a suit, but I know he’s in shape from the photo of him on the pier where he’s wearing shorts and a T-shirt.
ANONYMOUS: I guess you weren’t lying.
ALEC107: Now it’s your turn?
ANONYMOUS: I’m not sending you a picture of me.
ALEC107: Okay then. Let me ask you something. Do you drink coffee?
ANONYMOUS: Yes. Why?
ALEC107: I drink mine black with two sugars. None of that sugar substitute bullshit. Real sugar.
What a weird thing to even say.
ANONYMOUS: Why do I care how you take your coffee?
ALEC107: That’s up to you whether you care or not. I have a client meeting I have to get to. It was nice talking with you, Victoria.
Before I can send my reply, his status switches to “offline.”
“That was fucking weird.”
It’s been two days since I’ve spent any time with Landon. The food critic from the Times will be at the restaurant next week and he and Damon have been working on perfecting a couple new items to be added to the menu. They’ve also hired an interior designer to make some tweaks to the entrance and main dining area. With his busy schedule and me trying to get my editor some chapters, the only time we see each other is in passing each morning. After taking care of the girls all evening, I’ve been going to bed earlier than usual and am asleep before Landon gets home.
I was able to talk Brooke into watching the kids tonight so I could meet Landon for dinner. Mid-week is typically slow at the restaurant, so even though he’s at work, we will still be able to spend some time together. It’s not often that I drive into the city, mostly because Boston has the most screwed up streets I’ve ever seen, and I never fail to get myself turned around and going in the wrong direction. But I’m a sure shot when it comes to Damon’s restaurant, and when I pull up, the valet is right there to open up my door.
“Mrs. Garrison, good to see you,” Mark, a student at Boston University who has worked here for the past two years, greets.
“You too. How’s school going?”
“It’s going,” he groans with a hint of a smile. “Only one