"Mr. Scott? Could we talk for just a minute?"

"Uh...sure. As long as you call me Brandon."

"Okay. Brandon."

They went up the porch steps, and Brandon directed her to the swing. He set the plant beside the front door and sat down beside her.

"I heard you on the radio a few days ago," she said. "I didn't know you'd taken over your grandmother's business."

"Yep. I'm the new matchmaker on the block."

"The guy who interviewed you was a real ass."

Brandon laughed. "What is it they say? All publicity is good publicity?"

"Well, I hope for my sake you're not too busy now. I'd like to hire you."

Brandon froze. "You need a matchmaker?"

"I know what you're thinking," she said with an offhand wave. "You're thinking 'Boy, she's a real catch. I mean, with her stunning beauty and scintillating personality, why in the world would a girl like her need to hire somebody to find her a man?'"

Okay, so her blindness probably put her in a bit of a compromised position where dating was concerned, but surely she had other qualities to offset the apprehension some men were likely to have.

"Actually," Brandon said, "that's exactly what I was thinking. You don't seem like the kind of woman who would have any problem meeting men."

"Uh...I did mention the blindness thing, didn't I?"

"So that's been a problem for you?"

"Yeah," she said, her smile fading. "Just so you'll know, though, I haven't always been a loser at love. I was even engaged once. Before my accident. But after...well, he decided having a blind wife wasn't the direction he expected his life to go."

Bastard. Brandon didn't even know the guy, but that didn't stop him from hating him. "Not all men are like that."

"I know. I'm just having a hell of a time finding the ones who aren't. For some reason, blind girls seem to scare men away. Go figure."

"That's not fair."

"But that's reality. And if you saw what was behind these sunglasses, you'd know why."

For the first time, around the edges of her sunglasses, he saw the remnants of damaged skin that even grafts couldn't completely erase.

"Lab accident," she went on. "I was a biochem major at the University of Texas. Acid and glass can be really ugly things."

Every bit of the elation Brandon had felt all week because of the new clients he'd signed up seemed to fizzle away. Those were ordinary people with ordinary dating problems. But this...

"Why don't you tell me a little bit about yourself?" he said, mostly because he didn't know what else to say.

"Hmm. Let's see...I like gardening. Can't see the flowers, but I can still smell them, which is why my house is overrun with roses. And I like the feel of the dirt in my hands. Weird, huh? I have a good job, not exactly as a research chemist, but I won't be a financial drain on a guy. I own the house I live in. I like movies, but-" She held up her palm. "Okay, I have to admit I'm not too crazy about action-adventure films. It's not that I have anything against stuff exploding. I just have a hard time these days trying to figure out what it is that's blowing up." She smiled. "I know, I know. Deal breaker for some guys. But there you go."

Brandon liked this woman. He liked her a lot. But how was he going to get the average guy to see past the obvious? The answer was that it was going to have to be an above-average guy, and there weren't too many of those out there.

"If you want me to fill out a questionnaire or something, I'd be happy to," Delilah said. "I have a friend who'll help me with it."

"Uh...that'd be great."

"If you have hard copies, I can pick one up tomorrow when I bring you a check. What's your fee?"

He didn't even want to say it. The moment he took her money, he was obligated to help, even if he was in over his head. Way over.

"I charge fifteen hundred dollars for five introductions."

He actually hoped maybe that would scare her away and he wouldn't have to deal with this. Instead she made a scoffing noise and said, "That's all? Hell, the way my love life is going, I'd pay fifteen hundred bucks for one introduction."

No. Don't tell me that. I'm not worth it!

"So," she said, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. "What do you think, Mr. Matchmaker? Is there hope?"

Brandon opened his mouth to say something, only to close it again. Hope? Hell, there was always hope. But considering that he wasn't really a matchmaker, what were the odds that he'd be able to pull this off?

"Hmm," she said thoughtfully. "You're not answering me. It's times like these I really hate not being able to see people's faces."

"I'm sorry," he said. "I was just...I was just mentally going through my files. I'm sure there's somebody in there who'll be perfect for you."

The moment the words were out of his mouth, he wanted to yank them back. He had no idea if he'd be able to make a match for this woman. None at all.

"You're a little uptight about this, aren't you?" Delilah said.

His heart skipped. "No. Of course not."

"Don't worry, Brandon. I'm a realist. I know I'm a tough sell. If this works out, okay. If not, that's okay, too." She stood up and gave him a cheery smile. "So...if you happen to come across a guy who doesn't mind dating a poor blind girl, let me know, okay?"

She grabbed her cane and started down the stairs, only to turn back. She paused for a long time, and he noticed her hand tightening on the porch railing.

"When you were on the radio," she said, her voice softer now, "you said that you think there's somebody out there for everybody. Do you really believe that?"

Brandon closed his eyes. Please don't ask me that. "Of course I do."

She seemed to think about that for a moment, and then she gave him a smile.

"I just decided I'm going to take your word for that. After all, you're the professional, right?"

"Yeah," he said, even as he thought fraud, fraud, fraud. "I'm the professional."

She turned and continued down the stairs. Brandon watched as she walked back to her house, trying to imagine what it must have been like for her to have her life change so profoundly from one second to the next. He admired the hell out of her just for having the guts to get up and get on with her life.

And here she was putting her trust in him.

He didn't like people depending on him. That implied a sense of responsibility he'd never believed himself to have, and now he had to take it whether he wanted it or not.

He imagined leaving Plano in a few months and handing her money back to her. Sorry, sweetheart. Guess Mr. Right isn't going to be so easy to find after all. Good luck with the rest of your life.

He'd lied to her before. He had no idea if there was somebody out there for everybody. Surely there had to be some people in this world who were destined to go through it alone. And he'd always believed he was one of them.

He sincerely hoped Delilah wasn't.

The next afternoon, Alison and Heather were once again sitting around the table with the other members of the board of the Preservation League. It was their second meeting that month, with more to come. It was always like that in the weeks leading up to the home tour. So many details, so little time. There were the sponsors to think about. Volunteers. The program. Press releases. Raffle baskets. Ticket sales. Tour guides. More meetings. More details. More things she had to remember.

More Judith.

Bea hadn't even arrived to kick off the meeting yet, and already Judith was arguing with Karen about the hors d'oeuvres Maggie's Cafe was donating. Thirty seconds into the conversation, Alison wanted to toss her Sharpie aside and send a letter opener straight through her own skull.

"Those mini quiches were dry as a bone last year," Judith said. "The egg was like rubber. I could barely eat one. You need to tell them that. No mini quiches unless they can keep them moist."

"You want me to actually say that to them?" Karen said.

"Why not?"

"Because it's a donation, Judith," Heather said. "You don't solicit a donation and then bitch about the details."

"It's more than just details. It's a health hazard."

"Health hazard?"

"Somebody could choke on it."

Then by all means, Judith, eat up.

Just then Bea came through the door and tossed her notebook down on the conference room table. "Bad news, boys and girls. I just got off the phone with Mrs. Strayhorn. She's backing out of the tour."

Alison's heart seized up. "What? No. She can't back out. The tour is less than two months away!"

"She says she's afraid people will steal things."

"But I told her that wouldn't happen," Alison said. "I told her we'd have plenty of people staffing her house."

"She's not so sure they won't steal from her."

"I'll talk to her again," Alison said. "Try to change her mind."

"Nope. What if she backs out again only a few days before the tour and leaves us with no chance of getting another house?"

Good point.

"I wonder why Mrs. Strayhorn called you instead of me?" Alison said.

"She said you were such a nice girl that she didn't want to tell you she'd changed her mind." Bea paused, raising an eyebrow. "Gee, I wonder what that says about me?"

"What about the stuff about the Strayhorn house up on the website?" Karen said.

"And the programs are getting ready to go to press," Judith said.

"Don't worry about the website so much," Bea said. "But we do have to stop the programs. If those have to be reprinted, it'll break the bank."

Judith turned to Alison. "So what are you going to do now?"

"I'm not sure," Alison said. "But I'll get another house. I just don't know where."

"There's that house on State Street," Karen said. "On the corner of 16th. Painted beige and burgundy. Two-story Victorian with a wraparound porch-"

"I tried that one. It's vacant now. The old man who lived there died, and the house is tied up in his estate." She turned to Bea. "Are there any women in your book group who might have a house that'll work? Or know somebody who might?"

"I've hit them up in the past. But I'll hit again."

This was a disaster. Finding four people with the right homes who didn't mind opening them up to hundreds of people traipsing through them was a staggering feat every year. If they left it at three homes, they'd feel obligated to drop the admission charge, which would really cut into their profits.

And then it dawned on her. She did know of another house. Why hadn't she thought of it before? She turned the thought over in her mind. Yes...yes. It would be perfect.

"Wait a minute," she said. "I know just the house."

Bea perked up. "You do?"

"It's a pretty little prairie-style bungalow. Nearly original. It's on a beautiful block. The house is in good condition, and a lot of the furniture is vintage."

"Sounds perfect," Karen said. "Where is it?"

"I'll tell you all about it once it's in the bag."

"Hold on," Judge Jimmy said. "Before we get all excited here, are you sure you can get this house?"

"I'll get it," Alison said. "One way or another."

Half an hour later, the meeting broke up. Bea, Heather, and Alison went up the stairs together.

"Uh...there's a small problem with the house that I didn't bother to mention to the whole board," Alison said.

"Problem?" Bea said.

"It's going to need a little work to get it up to par for the tour. The owner just inherited the property, so he hasn't had a chance to do much to it. Since I'll be asking him to use it on short notice, I thought it'd be a sign of goodwill if we offered to help."

"Uh...Alison?" Heather said. "Whose house are we talking about?"

Yoga breath. "Brandon Scott's."

"Yeah, that's what I thought. Do you really think that's a good idea?"

"What are you girls talking about?" Bea asked.

"Nothing," Alison said, and Heather rolled her eyes. "It's the perfect house. It just needs a little work."