He admired one of my paintings.
“This is beautiful,” he said.
I smiled.
“Thank you.”
“Did you paint it from a photograph?”
“No. I painted it from memory.”
He looked at the canvas.
“Then you have a wonderful memory.”
We laughed.
There was no dramatic romance.
No instant declarations.
Just a pleasant conversation between two people who enjoyed the same things.
Over
the following weeks, we occasionally met for coffee after the painting sessions.
Richard never asked why I was divorced.
He never treated me like someone who needed to be rescued.
He simply listened when I spoke.
And that was something I hadn’t realized I missed.
One afternoon, he asked me a question.
“Debbie, are you happy?”
I thought about it.
Then I smiled.
“Yes. I think I finally am.”
He nodded.
“That’s a wonderful thing.”
I didn’t know whether anything would ever develop between us.
