Finding Mr. Right

Sophie looked across the table, admiring Frank’s profile as he spoke to the waiter. He had a strong chin and nice full lips.

“We’ll have the Merlot,” Frank said.

Sophie was surprised. How did he know she loved a good Merlot? Only one glass, though, never a drop more. That was her little secret. She couldn’t handle her wine.

He turned his attention back to Sophie. “I hope Merlot is ok with you,” he said, with what she thought was a mischievous smile.

“Oh, yes,” she replied, feeling her cheeks warm under the weight of his stare.

This was only their first date, so Sophie was surprised by the effect Frank already had on her. He made her feel like a giddy school girl.

He had brought flowers too. Instead of a bouquet, they were in a small clay pot, marigolds—also her favorite.

How did he know her so well? Had she told him about loving Merlot? Or that she didn’t like cut flowers because they would only die? She couldn’t remember...

Music was playing in the background, a soft melody she adored. Her foot tapped.

“Shall we dance?” Frank held out his hand.

Gingerly Sophie slid her fingers toward his, grasped his hand and again felt a blush rise inside.What was wrong with her, she wondered. She was being silly.

They moved easily to the music. Swaying and turning, never missing a beat. Sophie thought she could stay like this forever. Their hands cupped and his arm slung gently around her waist.

They returned to their table after three songs, sipped their merlot and gazed into one another’s eyes as they spoke of current events.

Sophie knew it was insane, but she felt a connection with Frank that she’d never felt before. He could be the one. No, she reprimanded herself for her errant thoughts. First date. Remember? She let out a small laugh.

“You seem amused,” Frank said with a crinkle around his eyes.

“It must be the wine,” Sophie smiled.

Frank laughed, “And that’s why you only get one glass!” For a second frank looked almost frightened, but quickly smoothed his face back into an easy smile. It was a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes now.

Ok. This was too much. The right flowers, the right wine and now this. How could he know she only takes one glass? She knew for a fact she didn’t tell him that. She tells no one that, except one person... Suddenly she felt confused. She couldn’t remember who she told.

“Are you ok?” Frank’s concerned voice startled Sophie. Her mind raced. Had he been watching her? Was he some kind of stalker?

“Sophie?” Suddenly his voice was raspy. Why did he sound so raspy?

Sophie reached for her glass. She needed wine. Suddenly she froze, hand in midair. She didn’t recognize her own hand. The fingers were wrinkled and gnarled.

Abruptly, she stood.

“Now, Sophie.” Frank’s voice was calm and soothing. He reached for her and looked hurt when she stepped back.

“Sweetheart,” he whispered.

Suddenly she was aware of the deep crevices in his forehead and the creases in his cheeks. He was old!

“It’s ok,” he continued.

She glanced around the room. To one side stood a hospital bed and on the shelves around the bed were dozens of small pots of marigolds.

She looked again at her own hands, turning them back and forth. She was old! The glimmer of a ring caught her eye. A wedding ring. Her wedding ring.

Suddenly it dawned on her. He’s the one she had told. It was Frank who knew her secret, one glass limit.

Sophie inhaled deeply and steadied her breathing. Frank knew everything and that was ok, she realized, as Frank gently took her in his familiar, loving arms.