Meeting guys: Fate or pursuit

Do you ever wonder, when you're hoping to "meet" somebody, whether you should just "let the universe" present love to you or whether you're supposed to go out and get it? Me too! I don't have the answer, but I had an interesting encounter with it this weekend.
On Friday night, I went to the Bookswap at the Booksmith. The Bookswap is kind of my favorite thing ever. If they had invented it while I was in high school, I think I might have actually met guys and gone on dates like the rest of the world. The Bookswap is kind of like speed dating for people who love books and words and ideas except that it's not super fast, it's not superficial, and you go home with a book.
In a nutshell, people bring their favorite book on a theme, sit at a table and talk about that book, switch to a couple more tables (meanwhile actually meeting and talking with people about their books) and end the night swapping the book they brought for a new book in a white-elephant-style competitive brawl.
I'm never late for the Bookswap. I'm also never early for the Bookswap: it scares me to get to things early, I never know what to do with all that space and people and potential for conversations in which I might not have anything to say. But this night, I was late and I knew it. As soon as I got in the store, I walked straight up to the counter to get my name tag. As I put my book down, this guy pointed to it, looked straight at me and said how much he absolutely "loved that book."
"Oh really?" I said, and then turned and walked toward the back of the store, totally focused
on getting to the bookswap as fast as I could since I was "late." As I was walking I thought to myself, "He was kind of cute. He had really sweet eyes and he was actually engaging when he spoke. He was genuinely talking to you. And now you are... Walking away from him. Hmmmmm." But then I thought, "Whatever, he's just buying a book and leaving. Let it go. It was just an encounter." And I did, I went to the Bookswap, saw a bunch of my friends, and started catching up with them. After a few minutes, it was time to go to our tables, and I did. I heard about some cool books and then it was time to rotate. I stopped by the "snack" table for more cheese and chocolate and guess who was also filling his plate? Yep, the guy.
I thought fast. I started making jokes about something with my friend, jokes about general life, hoping he'd hear them and relate and join in our conversation. He didn't. Then I just hoped he'd end up at my table. He didn't do that either. So, I let it go and just continued to enjoy the evening.
But then, right before he left, he came up to me again and said, "That book was the most influential book in my writing career."
"Really?" I asked. (I know, I need to work on this)
"Yes," he replied and then said, "And the ending..." and gave me a knowing smile.
Now, here's the thing. I brought Cider House Rules by John Irving as my book. I haven't read it in ten years so I actually don't remember how it ended. But here was this guy, apparently wanting to share his love for this book with me and I wanted that too so I said something like, "I know, it was..."
And he replied with some great response that I don't remember and I felt kind of bad. I had basically pretended to connect with him around the ending when I really had no recollection of it at all. But I also felt kind of good. I liked this guy, he seemed genuine and honest and I think he kind of liked me, or at least liked my book.
And then I watched him walk away. And then I watched him walk to another table, and approach another person and talk with them with the same apparent intimacy. And then I watched him walk to another table and do the same thing. And at first I was kind of sad, and then I just laughed and I thought, "That guy actually is a sincere and genuine guy and your book really was influential in his writing career and that is all. Maybe he likes you, maybe he doesn't, it's really not about that. It's about being present for the interaction when it happens and then letting it go, letting it just be what it was."
The next morning, I told my room mate about my interaction with the guy.
"He was totally interested in you!" he said. "Or, he was gay. A gay guy would totally connect with a girl over a book and not think twice about it. Was he cute?" This is my room mate's way of cashing in on all the gay guys that I am attracted to because he is gay himself so he can date them.
"Super cute," I responded. And then we attempted to determine his sexual orientation...
But after that, I started to think. Maybe I should talk to the owners of the Booksmith, hint around my interest in him, find out if he's married, see if they could set us up. I even started to google him, and then I stopped. "This feels like grasping," I thought. "This feels like trying to control. This feels like I'm trying to make things happen instead of letting them be." And it's true, it was.
But then I thought, "But what am I supposed to do here? Just let this go?" But that kind of felt like not being present either. And then I remembered how I had responded when I first walked in to the Bookswap that night, how I hadn't been present at all, how I had just rushed past the guy, focused so much on "getting to the Bookswap." And I thought, "You know, I'll bet that if I had actually been present in my interactions with this guy, I would be okay with letting this go right now. If I had interacted with him, genuinely experienced him, I wouldn't be wondering if I should be doing something to "get" him, creating some false scenario to attempt to recreate the genuine interaction that I kind of missed."
So I'm letting it go. I'm not going to try to "make something happen" with this guy because, honestly, I can't. I mean, sure, I can, I can find a way to make a connection between us but it just doesn't feel right. I'd much rather let this happen, be present to who I was in this situation and try to be more present to the next person who shows up in my life, less focused on time and getting somewhere and more aware of the people right in front of me.