Page 19 of The Build-a-Boyfriend Project

And at an hour and fifteen minutes, a large Korean man stumbles through the front door of the restaurant. People have been coming in and out all night, so Eli doesn’t think anything of the guy at first.

Dressed for the colder night in a dark gray hoodie and matching sweatpants, and very obviously not for a date, there’s a wild look in the man’s eyes, his cheeks flushed, like he’s running from something. Or to someone. Eli has no reason to suspect that this man is Peter, but something in his rumbling gut tells him that this is the man who just stood him up.

Though now he has to wonder what constitutes actual standing up, and if it can still be considered being stood up if Peter still showed, no matter how late.

From a simple glance across the restaurant, Eli can tell that Peter’s taller than him, much broader too, with strong shoulders and a rounder face with thick black hair that almost shines a maroon color in the reflection of the warm lights of the restaurant.

Eli looks away, his cheeks hot, before he dares to look up again, catching Peter talking to the waitress, who motions to Eli’s table.

So that’s it.

This is Peter.

Eli has to figure out how he wants to handle this. In the half hour since he decided Peter had ghosted him, he’s thought of a hundred different things to text to Peter afterward, even drafted a few choice words chosen under the influence of the strawberry soju, leaving them unsent in his Notes app.

Any thoughts of anger or vindication are lost, though, when it hits him just how handsome Peter is.

“Are you Elijah?” Peter asks as he tiptoes up to the table, like Eli’s a caged animal and Peter’s afraid of him.

“It’s Eli,” he corrects, suddenly pulled deep in his feelings again. “You’re late.” As if Peter didn’t already know that, based on the expression on his face.

“I know, I know. I’m extremely sorry,” he says quickly. So quickly that his words almost come out as one singular sound, just like the explanation that follows. “I lost track of time and I missed your texts and I hadn’t showered and I didn’t know what to wear so I changed outfits like five times, and I had to take the bus because my car didn’t have a charge. And . . .” Peter looks at him, taking several deep breaths. “I’m sorry.”

Eli doesn’t really know what to say at first. He’s spent the last thirty minutes of his life angry at this man he’d never met. And now that Peter is finally in front of him, he doesn’t really know what to feel.

“It’s okay,” he says eventually, unable to hide all of the impatience in his voice. “Have you eaten?”

Peter shakes his head fervently. “I was too nervous.”

“Okay, well, you can just order something. I’m pretty much done.” Eli stares at the nearly empty bowl.

“Sorry,” Peter says again as the waitress comes by, leaving a menu and a fresh glass of water since Eli drained both of theirs. Suddenly he feels self-conscious about the state he’s left the table. The two empty water glasses, the half-filled soju bottle next to the empty one, and the shot glass he’d been drinking from, empty plates.

“Uh, do you want something to drink?” Eli slowly pushes the second bottle of soju toward Peter.

“No.” Peter says, his voice still hurried. Eli wants to tell him to relax, but he’s not sure that would do much good. Then Peter’s phone begins to buzz in his pocket, and he searches for a bit before he finds it in the pocket of his hoodie. “Hello?”

Eli sits silently, listening to the Korean folk song that plays through the speakers, tapping his foot impatiently along to the rhythm.

“Yeah. No. You need to run the tests. I left the program running. It should be done by the morning. So check in a few hours your time and it should be okay. If it doesn’t run, I can work on it over the weekend. Okay. Yes. Yes. No. Yes. I’ll message him on Slack. Okay. Yes. Yeah. Bye.”

Eli perks up at the phone call finally ending.

“I’m sorry,” Peter says again. Eli’s quickly realizing that this phrase is a familiar one in Peter’s vocabulary.

“It’s okay. Was that work?”

“Yes.”

“Patricia said you work in tech.”

“Patricia?”

“My friend. Your coworker Francine’s friend? Or friend of a friend, I can’t keep track.”

“Oh, yes. I like Francine.” Peter says these words just as he takes a sip of water, almost seeming to forget that he’s doing two things at once. Which wouldn’t be so bad if these two things weren’t at odds with each other.

Peter’s water spills right out, dribbling on his shirt.