Page 51 of A Simple Love

“Right. Point taken.”

“But I wasn’t interested in them enough to have sex, frankly. It felt too personal, too intimate. And I knew they weren’t forever.”

“And no one since?” I was still in shock. She was too special to have been alone all this time.

“There was one man when I moved to Toronto. We met at the art gallery at an exhibit.” She smiled. “I had saved for weeks to buy a ticket.”

“I didn’t know you liked art.”

“I grew to appreciate it. It was a collection of Monet, who is an artist I love.”

“Ah.”

“We met and chatted. Had coffee after. That led to dinner.”

I shifted, not sure I wanted to hear about her falling in love.

“And you…?” I trailed off suggestively.

“Nothing. We dated. I liked Warren. He more than liked me. We saw each other when I could with the course load I was carrying and my part-time job. He never pushed, never forced me to be more or give more than I could.”

“Sounds like a decent guy.”

“More than decent. Almost perfect.”

I grunted. “No one is perfect.”

“I know. But he was incredible. However, something was missing. He introduced me to his mom one day. Surprised me at lunch when she joined us.”

“Oh. Bad?” I surmised.

“No. As wonderful as he was, so was she. He saw an associate and went to say hello. His mom, Aubrey, took the opportunity to enlighten me. I’ll never forget what she said, or even how kind she was in saying it.” She smiled sadly as she recounted the conversation.

“I can see why Warren is smitten,” she had said, patting my hand. “You are lovely.”

“Oh,” I replied, surprised. “Thank you.”

“But unless I’m mistaken, not in love with my son.”

I sputtered. “I beg your pardon?”

“He is already planning a future with you. Did you know that?”

“No.”

“I thought not. If you returned his feelings, you would be doing the same thing.” Before I could speak, she held up her hand. “I’m not saying this to be unkind or butt in, but I hate to think of either of you getting hurt. My son, of course, but I get the feeling you are the sort of girl who might say yes simply because of how wonderful he is, not because you’re in love. And my dear, you’re too young. And we all deserve that sort of love that seeps into your soul, takes hold and cannot be shaken.” She sipped her tea. “Warren deserves that, and frankly, so do you.”

She shook her head as if to clear the memories. “I thought about what she said, and she was right. I liked Warren. Maybe half loved him. But not the right kind of love. Not the kind that made me want to be with him, be intimate, dedicate my life to him and have a family. There was no spark. Just a nice little flame to keep me warm and safe. And we both deserved better than that.”

“What happened?” I asked despite myself.

“He came over that week, and before I could say the words, he said them for me.” She laughed quietly. “He broke up with me and made me feel good about it. That was the sort of man he was.”

“Sounds like an okay guy,” I agreed grudgingly.

She nodded. “He sent me a letter about eighteen months later with a picture of himself, his wife, and their adorable baby. On the back, he wrote a little note.”

“What did it say?”