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By our second month of dating, Peter told me he loved me, that I was beautiful, that he liked my shoes, and that he was the luckiest man in the world to find me.We didn't always have the pyrotechnic chemistry of a one-night stand, but we had a constant warmth that made me want to cuddle up next to him.One evening, after one too many drinks, some demon took over my brain and I con- fessed that I thought he was too boring for me.

I didn't feel compelled to impress him; he seemed to genuinely like my apartment, my books, my soup..me.He'd raised a considerate daughter who shared his quirky sense of humor.My friends told me I'd totally scored, finding a smart, handsome, 6'4" man who adored me.We spent a passionate week together, and when I left town, I thought I was leaving behind a new long-distance boyfriend—one who, it turned out, didn't like to call or e-mail..I thought our fling was the start of a relationship; he thought it was a fling, period. I would fall for a brilliant guy with an irresistible smile who never quite fell for me but who possessed all the qualities I liked in a man: a sense of humor, certified smarts, smoldering looks.I met the Brazilian in line for a film screening while visiting Manhattan from San Francisco.

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