It was a late Wednesday afternoon when Bridget Kohl stopped in a local bookshop, to look for a book as a birthday gift for her son. And as a reward for giving her her first grandchild. She knew he liked history books, so she started perusing the section. She started finding it daunting when she heard a voice behind her.
"Hard to choose, huh."
She turned to find a young man looking at her. And with a most focused look.
"Uh, yes," she said, before asking, "Do you work here?"
"No!" The young man smiled. "Just shopping for a book, like you."
He held up a book, the title of which Bridget guessed had something to do with the Industrial Revolution.
"If you need suggestions, I'd be happy to help."
She explained looking for a gift for her son.
"I think he's into the Revolutionary War these days."
"Ah... over here."
The young man made several suggestions, pointing out which he'd read. She settled on one book she thought would be liked.
"Well, thank you. You've been very kind."
"David. Call me Dave," he replied, as he offered his hand.
"Oh, Bridget," she said, still taken by the way he looked at her.
"I'd have thought a young man like you would prefer e-books."
"Sometimes. But I like being able to thumb through a book. And see it on my shelf."
He continued the conversation, "I'm here often after work. A short walk from the office."
"Well, I've taken too much of your time," Bridget replied, smiling.
"Not at all. In fact, there's a coffeehouse down the block. Still open. Care to join me?"
She paused, a bit flustered by an invitation from such a quarter. She guessed he was about her son's age, and couldn't see why he'd want her company. But his charming smile disarmed her, and she accepted.
Bridget paid for her book and the two stepped out into the early June air, before taking the short walk to the coffeehouse, where she ordered tea, and he ordered a double espresso.
"How do you manage caffeine this time of day?" she asked.
"Live on it. Part of my job, almost."
He explained working for a consulting outfit, specializing in structural engineering.
He turned the subject to her, getting her to tell of her two sons, both married and living on the East Coast. That led to her explaining being divorced for several years. A point that she thought brought out a faint smile in him. Bridget's own curiosity was piqued and turned the subject once more.
"I'd have thought a young man like you would have a lady friend to attend to."
David laughed and explained he and the last one had split up a couple weeks earlier.
"There was a physical attraction at the start. But, well... Let's say there wasn't a meeting of the minds."
"So, you want beauty as well as brains," she teased.
Bridget regretted the quip, when he looked into her eyes, and calmly replied, "Yes."
She changed the subject again, and found he was a fan of classical music.
"Mom instilled it in me, I guess. She's a professional violist."
As the talk moved to music, Bridget's mind was in a flux. She could not imagine that David might have any designs on her. She guessed she was thirty years older than him. Yet, the attentions of this young man were exhilarating; a moment to feel young.
"Dave, it's been lovely talking to you. A handsome guy like you will find a lady in no time."
"And you? No love interests?" he asked.
She paused, then chuckled. "At my age, the good ones are in happy marriages. The rest, I think, are leftovers. Well, again, it's been lovely."
"Bridget, um... I'd like to take you to dinner. My treat. Friday, say? Um... I've enjoyed our conversation."
Bridget was taken aback. An invitation to dinner was not expected, just a nice 'glad to have met you.' She questioned his motives. But with his gentle smile, she couldn't imagine any guile in him. Besides, any attention from a man like him was quite flattering.
"Um, okay," she relented.
"I can pick you up," David offered.
That, she declined and instead, asked to meet him at the restaurant.
"Italian or seafood?" he suggested.
Seafood was her choice, and phone numbers were exchanged.
***
Friday, Bridget fretted over what to wear. 'This isn't a date,' she reminded herself. Still, she told herself, 'I want to look good.' What her mind suppressed was her little fantasy, the impossibility of a young plaything to give her one last pass at passion.
With some guilt, she settled on a dress that complemented her curves and gave a hint of her generous cleavage.
She didn't know the restaurant, but on arrival, found it was not some little dive she had expected. Rather, one with valet parking. She left the keys with the valet and found David waiting for her at the bar and dressed quite nicely in a sports coat.
"Want to take our table, or get something at the bar first?"
Bridget saw the cocktail in his hand and suggested the bar.
"Hope you're not driving?" she teased.
"No. In fact, my place is walking distance from here."
