Snow Valley’s best restaurant is not large. It prides itself on exclusivity, which in a town this size means everyone notices everyone else immediately.
She’s seated near the window. Not alone. The man across from her is well-dressed. Tailored. Polished. The type who looks comfortable in rooms like this. Nearer to her age than I am.
Wesley Tisdale. The jerk. He’s the one of the dullest Tisdales, so I’m not terribly worried about her going on a date with him. He’s not the type to be aggressive with a woman, and he’s also not her type of guy.
I think.
But really, what do I know about Perry?
She laughs at something he says. It looks polite. Stiff.
But it is laughter. Which seals it. She’s not invested in me. Not if she’s dating other guys or exploring her options.
And why wouldn’t she? She’s young. Intelligent. Attractive. She has every right to date men her own age. Men without…complications.
I am, objectively, an absurd choice. Her former physician. Her ex-boyfriend’s father. Twenty-one years her senior.
I should have anticipated this, but the disappointment is sharp.
My reaction is irrational. I know this. We have not established exclusivity. We have not negotiated terms. All we’ve really done is speak on the phone.
And yet, it stings.
She leans back in her chair. He speaks at length. She nods.
I recognize the look in her eyes. She’s not captivated. She’s enduring. That should reassure me, but it doesn’t. The fact is, she’s seeing other people. Maybe I should too.
It’s fine. I do not compete. That’s not the point of dating for me. This is not a loss. It’s a lesson.
Don’t get so attached so damn fast.
I walk home instead of calling for the car. Snow Valley’s main street is quiet at this hour—lamplight stretching thin across the sidewalks, storefronts dark except for the faint glow of security lights.
I replay the image of her across that table. She looked composed. Controlled. Not dazzled, but present.
I reach my house and let myself inside, shrugging off my coat, setting my phone on the kitchen counter. The quiet here is different from the quiet outside. It presses rather than clears, so I pour a glass of water and lean against the counter.
I am too old for this.The thought surfaces plainly and unwelcome.
But it’s true. I am too old for uncertainty and guessing games. Too old to be unsettled by a woman nearly half my social circle’s age.
She deserves someone uncomplicated. Someone without a son her age. Someone without history woven into her own. It is entirely reasonable that she would choose that. Good for her.
But just in case I’m wrong about everything I just tried to tell myself, I exhale slowly and pick up my phone.
No messages.
I consider texting her. I do not. If she’s interested, she will reach out. If she’s not, then this resolves itself. I set the phone down.
Five minutes later, it lights up.
Perry:You left early.
I stare at the screen longer than necessary. That is…unexpected.
I reply:I didn’t want to interrupt.
Three dots appear almost immediately.You wouldn’t have interrupted anything.
