The first time we sat together in my backyard hot tub, my neighbor was so shocked that she didn’t even say hello. The next morning, my son, David, showed up and demanded that I throw the young man out immediately.
“Mom, don’t you understand? He’s young enough to be your grandson! Why would a man his age be interested in you?”
I stayed silent.
Not because I didn’t have an answer, but because I had asked myself the same question a hundred times.
My husband had died eight years earlier. Since then, I had lived alone in our large house in Florida.
My children had families of their own. They called once a week and visited on holidays.
Jake had entered my life on an ordinary Tuesday.
I was sitting in a café when he approached my table and asked if he could sit down.
