“Then we’d get along,” he replied.
Our evening conversations soon became routine. Arthur remembered my roses and asked about my granddaughter’s new position. Eventually, I nervously brought up my mustache, bracing for a hurtful reaction. His reply astonished me.
“Please don’t ever shave it. I think you’re beautiful exactly as you are.”
I read the message three times and cried. Walter had always accepted me; I was realizing how long I’d refused to believe his reassurance.
Arthur arrived for our first date with my favorite lemon cookies. Whenever I caught him studying my face,my hand instinctively rose toward my upper lip.
“You don’t have to do that around me, Holly darling.”
I let my hand fall. During our second meeting, he took a photograph of me beside a rosebush. Later, he requested another makeup-free selfie, and I obliged. On our third date, he questioned where I’d lived as a child.
“Not always,” I said. “My family moved around when I was young.”
He seemed unusually interested in that answer, though I didn’t challenge him.
Several days later, he invited me to his home for dinner cooked by his housekeeper, Helen. Before ending our call, he returned to the same request.
