Laura

I knew exactly which cowboy Dylan was. He'd gone more old school than high tech. The duster he wore was brown leather and weathered as authentically as a real cowboy's. It fell to mid-calf and flared out as he walked. I recognized it—it had been his Uncle Dan's. Dan had been Dylan's idol when he was young. I remember Dylan trailing around after Dan all over town. Dan was a character, a real rancher as weather-beaten and handsome as his coat. Women of my mom's generation and older used to swoon when he walked by. Dan had been a real heartbreaker. Now Dylan was, too, in Dan's coat and a tan cowboy hat. In cowboy boots that gave him another couple of inches, he was an impressive, and intimidating, sight.

Besides having an uncanny resemblance to his uncle, he looked like a famous space cowboy from a cult classic sci-fi/Old West mashup TV show. One of my favorite shows, too. It had been a shame it only lasted a season.

My steampunk rendition of a swan was a perfect match for Dylan's costume, completely by accident. Great minds. He could have loaded me onto his spaceship and whisked me away and no one would have thought anything odd about it—that was how much we looked like a matched set. That would have been a plan if he hadn't been avoiding me. He'd danced with every other swan in the room. Every time I even thought about approaching Dylan, he made a move on yet another swan.

Me? I had the pleasure of meeting eleven attractive space cowboys, each with a unique take on the costume. The highest-tech one with the fancy space armor was a very nice, but boring, banker. He clearly had money but very little personality. Another admitted he was hired to attend the ball and his costume was rented. Wasn't it awesome? Now there was a guy who wasn't going to get a sweet gig like this again.

One was too full of himself for me. He spent our time together bragging about his accomplishments. It may have been insecurity that made him spout his achievements, but I wasn't the woman to tame him and teach him modesty. Another was a pretty boy without much substance behind his high cheekbones, but he sure was nice to look at. Cruising around on his arm as the envy of other women would only be fun until the novelty wore off. Once pretty boy lost his looks, life would just be sad. One was really witty, but he was too artsy for me. He would have made a great friend, but not a love match. And that was the really diabolical thing that Ashley had done—she hadn't brought in complete duds, caricatured villains to blatantly point to my one true love. Each one, except the hired one, had something beyond his height to recommend him. But none of them were the complete package, at least not for my tastes.

I didn't know what drove me to meet all eleven of the space cowboys other than stubbornness. And the fact that Dylan was always occupied with someone else. I had to prove to myself that Dylan wasn't the only match in the room for me. Now I was wondering whether even he was.

It had been a lovely hour of meeting fun, attractive, tall men. It had zipped by too fast. But my frustration was growing. People were pairing up and taking tables for two at an alarming rate. Soon, if fate didn't intervene or I didn't act, I'd be that sad wallflower dining alone.

Dinner was fast approaching and I had no partner, no fantasy match. There was only one man left in the room of hundreds who had the potential, who'd always had the most potential, at least according to Ashley. And maybe my heart. It still wasn't one hundred percent convinced.

Frustrated, I went to the ladies' room to collect my thoughts and fix my face, or the lower half of it, anyway. My mouth felt stretched thin from smiling. My heart was just as tight.

But the ladies' room provided no respite. Warm and filled with dozens of different scents being reapplied, it reminded me of the perfume counter at Nordstrom. And my insecurity over selecting the perfect perfume. How did these women have so much confidence?

The talk and whispers were excited, vibrant gushes over matches and their attributes. Women shared their intimate hopes with complete strangers as if they were lifelong friends. The ball had fostered a sense of camaraderie that was rare. There was little competition here—to each their own. It was all romance, hot guys, the men, the men, the men! High, excited voices drunk on the possibility of love, amazed by the power of a good matchmaker. Where had all these guys been all along? Was mine the only heart that teetered on the brink of loneliness?

Ashley and her team had done a damn fine job of matching people up. I should have been impressed and encouraged. Maybe it was only that my match had been avoiding me. As I reapplied the gloss over my no-smear lipstick, I made up my mind to give Dylan a fresh chance. I was going to chase that cowboy down and meet him as if for the first time. And I was going to do it when I left the sanctuary of the ladies' room. He shouldn't be hard to find. And if another swan was hogging his attention, woe unto her.

I adjusted my mask, nodded to my reflection in the mirror, and strutted out of the ladies' room and back into the ballroom. I held my head high, neck extended, proud of my height, using it to my advantage. Where are you, space cowboy?

---

Dylan

She was gone. Laura was gone. I scoured the ballroom, looking for her, cursing myself for my stubbornness. I'd played the game a little too coolly. Now I was going to pay for it with a lost opportunity.

Cam sat at a table for two with a pretty soldier of some kind, probably a soldier of fortune. Cam was worth a boatload. She wore a kickass costume. I could see why he was into her. I couldn't disturb him. Jeremy was doting on Crystal. Lazer and Ashley had their hands full with all the lovelorn and mystified match seekers. They should have made some of the clues easier.

Austin and Blair spotted me in my distress and came over.

"What's up?" Austin said. "You look panicked. Not found your match yet? I've seen you dancing around with seven swans a-swimming. Obviously, your clue is to look for a swan. None to your taste, or have they all thrown your cowboy ass out of the nest?"

"Eleven," I said. "Don't underestimate my patience and perseverance. I've danced with eleven swans. None of them were my mate-for-life type. There's one more swan here. She's my last hope, but she seems to have disappeared."

Austin slapped me on the back. "Tough luck, aye? Looks like it's home alone on the range for you, cowboy. Cheer up. If you're lucky, you can pick yourself up a companion at the planet comfort station."

I scowled at him. "Very funny."

Blair frowned at him. "Stop discouraging him!" She turned to me. "I saw a swan in the ladies' room a minute ago. Tall—"

"They're all tall. What was she wearing?"

Austin gave me a deadpan look. "A swan costume, one assumes. I don't think Blair was being literal about seeing a real swan."

I shook my head. "What version? Steampunk? Tall white boots? Corset?"

Blair's face lit up. "Yes! That's the very one."

"What should I do?" I said.

"Hang around the ladies' room trying to pick up swans like a creeper." Austin snickered.

Blair gave his shoulder a shove. It didn't budge him. "Shut up, you." She looked past me, over my shoulder. "He won't have to. Here she comes now. Is that who you're looking for?"

I turned. Laura was entering the ballroom. I stepped away from Blair and Austin, leaving Austin smirking in my wake. My pulse roared in my ears as I made my way across the room toward Laura.

Steampunk Swan turned her head and looked in my direction. I was beginning to agree with Cam about the masks, especially hers. I couldn't see her eyes. Welcoming? Delighted? Or thin and discouraging? I was going in blind.

---

Laura

The beauty of my mask was now apparent—it hid the hard, glittering, determined look I was so often accused of when I was after something. My colleagues accused me of using it to intimidate them. I'd never seen the look. I just knew when I felt a certain way, I was wearing it. I didn't want it scaring Dylan away.

I spotted him across the room talking to a Highlander and his lady. Dylan turned and looked in my direction. My eyes met his, though he'd be unaware I was looking at him rather than in his general direction. Apparently, I didn't scare him off, not even drawn up to my full height plus four inches of heels.

He came toward me, deliberately, through the thick of the crowd. It was as if the room faded to background around him. I was aware of only him. His duster billowed as he strode, long gunslinger strides that I remembered him practicing when we were young.

I stood in place, waiting for him, going over my plan—we were two strangers now meeting for the first time. This was our clean slate, our second chance, a new beginning. I wasn't going to give anything away.

He came to a stop in front of me and studied me in silence. The band was on break. The room was full of the white noise of a hundred conversations.

"I'm looking for my match." His voice was deep and sexy, much sexier than I remembered. Voices got deeper as people aged. His had lost all the timidity and awkwardness of youth. Confidence was hot. He was hot.

His face had lost the softness of youth, too. He was all tall, hard man now. What I could see from the cheekbones down was sculpted with hard lines—a strong, square jaw, high cheekbones, firm lips. No more double chin.

He came to me with hat in hand. So perfect. Very gentlemanly.

"That makes two of us." I let my gaze rake over him. He couldn't see my eyes. I was in the clear to look at him however I wanted, with lust or disdain. Lust was winning. I had to give Steph points for genius—with my eyes hidden, I didn't have to worry about them giving me, or my emotions, away.

"You wouldn't happen to be a pen?"

I smiled at him and preened. "A pen? Do I look like a pen? I have no cap."

He studied me again and reached out to run his fingers lightly down my long neck. He withdrew his hand quickly, as if he'd taken a liberty he shouldn't have. "Long, lovely neck, white feathers. You look exactly like a pen."

First test passed—he knew what a female swan was. Dylan had always been smart.

"And you?" I let my gaze linger on his broad shoulders. "Are you the kind of cowboy who would take a girl to the outer limits?"

"I have a big gun," he said without cracking a smile as he patted the holster at his hip. "My spaceship's in the lot."

"Then you sound like my kind of cowboy." I waited for him to introduce himself or react like he recognized me.

He did neither. We were both playing the same game. I liked that. We were on the same wavelength—start fresh.

"What are you called, cowboy?" I said.

"Cowboy's good enough for now. You?"

"A man of mystery? Fair enough. You can call me Odette." I waited to see whether he got the connection.

He lifted an eyebrow. "You don't look as much like you come from a ballet as some other swans here tonight. I could just call you Swan Lake."

"Odette will be fine." I was pleased he got that, too.

"This is presumptuous of me, but dinner is about to start, and I find myself without a date. I'd prefer to sit at a two-person table and enjoy an intimate conversation to dining with a group of lonely strangers." He pulled his phone out and held it out to me. "This is my clue to my match."

He let me read it.

"Unless I'm mistaken, the clue refers to a swan."

I nodded.

"I've talked to every other swan here. None of them suited me. That leaves you."

"I'm 'the one' by process of elimination? How flattering."

He was unflappable. "Process of elimination is a highly respected and scientific method."

Dylan had always been quick with a comeback, which had gotten him in trouble in school more than once. People didn't expect it out of a quiet boy like he'd been.

I held my phone up so he could read my clue. "Good point. I was promised a space cowboy."

"Will you dine with me?"

"Since you're the first cowboy to ask—yes, I'd love to."

He held out his long-fingered hand to me. "Let's find a table before all the good ones are taken."

I slid my hand into his, hardly able to connect this man with the geeky, awkward, chubby boy I used to know. Only his sense of humor gave him away. I was once again struck by the thought that if I had met him on the street, I wouldn't have recognized him. But I definitely wouldn't have walked on by without noticing him, either.

He led the way to a prime table and held a chair out for me.

I eyed the sign next to the centerpiece. "Reserved?"

"For us."

"You're a VIP?"

"I helped set up. They gave me a perk for the use of my manual labor."

"So how were all the good tables going to be taken if you have one reserved?"

"Table rustlers."

I laughed and shook my head.

"All right. You got me. That was just a ruse to get you to say yes to having dinner with me. Adding a ticking clock is an effective sales technique."

"You're a salesman?" I knew very well what he was.

"Of a sort."

The music stopped suddenly. Ashley appeared on stage and rang a tinkling dinner bell. "Dinner will be served shortly. Please, everyone, find a table."

She nodded to the band. They began playing soft, romantic background music to dine by. Someone adjusted the lighting.

A waiter came by, lit the candle on our table, and filled our water glasses, temporarily stopping the flow of our conversation.

"What do we do now?" I asked. "I'm a new member. This is all new to me. I have a confession to make—I haven't been out on any match dates."

His smile made my toes curl. "I've been out on enough for both of us."

"Hard man to match?" I watched his reaction closely.

He kept smiling. "Discriminating. Does that scare you off?"

I shrugged. "I'm not easily scared. I like men with discriminating taste."

"Good. We're on the same page."

I took a sip of water. "So is there a script? Is this like the first date after meeting online? We play twenty questions now, giving each other all the mundane details of our lives—name, occupation, loves to walk barefoot on beaches?"

His eyes were dark in the dim lighting of the ballroom. His lips curled into a very slight smile. "No script, just conversation. If you want to give me the mundane details, feel free to text me a factsheet about yourself or send me the link to your LinkedIn profile. I'd like to get to know you, not what you do."

My eyes went wide. He'd surprised me. "That's deep."

He shrugged, and I thought the corners of his mouth turned up just a little bit more.

"Good for you that I like conversation. What do you want to know? Where should we start?" He knew all about my family and hometown, where I went to high school. We were both ignoring our past together.

"How about we start with the easy stuff?" He leaned toward me. "What would a perfect day look like for you?"

His question delighted me and stirred butterflies in my stomach. It was so unexpected. "I…I…"

He waited for me to go on.

"I don't know." I studied him. "Where do I start? There isn't just one perfect day. There are dozens of iterations. It depends on my mood and what day of the week it is. How could I choose? The perfect day at the office? The perfect family day? The perfect holiday? The perfect romantic day? There are so many. You?"

He didn't hesitate. "The perfect day is any day I get a second chance to seize a missed opportunity. To correct a mistake. To start fresh. To make a new impression. To meet a beautiful, intriguing woman. To have dinner with someone I'd like to get to know better."

My breath caught. "That sounds pretty perfect to me, too."