We were swept apart on a tide of eager guests. She looked achingly familiar, as if we had shared some deep intimacy, and yet I couldn't place her. All through the wedding, we exchanged glances while I quizzed my friends. None of them knew her. One of the women in our group volunteered that she'd met her at the bridal shower, but that's all I could find out.

The bride and groom cried a little as they recited their vows. Then they kissed, and someone sang Marc Cohn's True Companion as we streamed into the banquet hall. The beautiful woman caught up with me, took my arm and said, ``Hi, stranger! I can't believe you never called me, after we had such a great conversation at the housewarming!''

Suddenly I remembered. About three months before, Nita and Chuck had moved in together and held a party, out in a gated community in Weston. Chuck had begun brewing his own beer, and he had stockpiled half a dozen different varieties. There had been a drunken basketball game in the driveway, and I'd twisted my ankle. I sat out the rest of the game with . . . well, it had to be her. Of course, her name was Valerie, she'd been an English major, too, and we'd talked about books. While Chuck and his friends hotly debated fouls, and Nita and her friends stayed inside where it was cool, Valerie and I sat on a berm by a canal, looked at the stars, and talked about Hemingway and Joyce. How could I have forgotten?

Valerie switched the place cards so that she and I could sit together. We danced, and talked, and had a great time. A co-worker had driven her to the wedding, so she wasn't watching what she drank. Then the co-worker got friendly with one of the ushers, and Valerie asked if I could take her home.

It was all going pretty fast, but after all, it wasn't as though we'd just met. We'd shared that night under the stars, with the bouncing basketball and the grunted curses. We already knew each other. As I said, I'm not usually the type of guy who has that kind of luck, but that night I guess I was.

She lived in Plantation, in a townhouse she shared with a Great Dane and a roommate who was off in Atlanta. By the time we got there, she wasn't feeling well. Too many Sea Breezes, or maybe it was a flu bug. I made some coffee and we sat in the living room, surrounded by overflowing bookshelves.

It took a couple of hours before she was feeling well enough that I thought I could leave her alone, but in that time we talked about every major writer, from Geoffrey Chaucer to John Grisham. By the time I left, my arms were piled high with paperback mysteries and serious hard-cover novels she was lending me. I knew I'd have to see her again, because I'd have to return all those books.

She'd said her favorite book in the world was Umberto Eco's The Name of the Rose, and I tried to get through it as quickly as possible so that I'd have a reason to call her. But some books you just can't speed-read. I carried it everywhere with me, reading brief snatches as I waited for elevators or sat at long traffic lights. One Friday night two weeks after the wedding I stayed up until almost 3, finally turning the last page just before I fell asleep.

When I woke the next morning, I called her townhouse, and her roommate answered. She said, ``Oh, yeah, Valerie told me about you, the guy at the wedding. The craziest thing happened -- it was so romantic. She still felt rotten the next morning, so she went to the emergency room. She fell in love with the doctor who treated her -- do you believe it? This weekend he took her to Nassau!''

There was a pause, as if she expected me to respond, but I didn't know what to say. Finally she said, ``Are you still there?''

``I'm still here. Um -- I have some books she lent me.''

``Oh, yeah. She said if you called, I should just tell you to keep them. She and this doctor have lots of the same books.''

I thanked her and hung up. I couldn't believe how bad I felt -- after all, I'd only met Valerie twice. But the chemistry between us had been amazing, and I was so happy I'd been given a second chance. Somehow, though, I'd blown it again.

When I think about Valerie now, it's hard to believe that the whole thing ever happened. As I said, I'm not that kind of guy.

But I do still have the books.