Then back at her.
“Kelly, I'm forty.”
She nodded.
“I know.”
“I have an eight-year-old daughter.”
“I've met her.”
I smiled despite myself.
She continued.
“And I know you're going to tell me you're worried about the difference in our ages.”
I stared.
Kelly folded her arms.
“That's something we should discuss seriously. But it isn't something you get to decide for both of us.”
For several seconds, I remained silent.
Then I laughed softly.
“You've been preparing that speech.”
She smiled.
“For weeks.”
I took a breath.
“I'm worried about doing this for the wrong reasons.”
Her expression softened.
“Then let's make sure we don't.”
I looked toward her.
She continued.
“I have my own apartment. My own work. My own friends. My own doctors. I make my own choices, Jeffrey.”
I nodded.
She took a step closer.
“And I want to have dinner with a man I care about.”
For a long moment, I looked into her eyes.
Then I smiled.
“Would you like to have dinner with me Friday?”
Kelly's face lit up.
“Yes.”
I laughed.
“Good.”
She tilted her head.
“Are you nervous?”
“Terrified.”
She grinned.
“Excellent. So am I.”
Our first date wasn't extravagant.
We went to a quiet restaurant overlooking a park.
I arrived ten minutes early.
Kelly arrived five minutes later wearing an elegant green dress and a cream coat.
Her long blonde hair fell in soft waves over her shoulders.
She looked beautiful.
But what I remember most was the way she smiled when she saw me.
Not surprised.
Not grateful.
Simply happy.
We talked for nearly three hours.
About music.
Books.
Places we'd traveled.
Things we wanted to learn.
She told me about her dream of eventually owning her own floral design studio.
Not immediately.
She wanted more experience first.
But she had ideas for a business that specialized in thoughtful, accessible event designs, with workspaces that accommodated employees and customers with different needs.
I listened as she described the layout.
The windows.
The worktables.
The flowers she'd grow herself.
She looked alive when she talked about it.
And I realized how easy it would have been to see only her injury, her beauty, or the terrible accident connecting our families.
There was so much more.
She was funny.
Stubborn.
Creative.
Occasionally impatient.
And far more willing to challenge me than most people in my life.