Last night, I received “just because” flowers. It was just another Wednesday but we’d discussed having dinner together when we said goodbye on the weekend. He messaged me when he left work and I started cooking a few minutes before he was due.
When he arrived, he handed over the Christmas gift I’d asked him to pick up for me on Monday afternoon on his way home from work (which I’d already forgotten about), and a bunch of flowers.
“What are these for?”
“Because you’re beautiful and you deserve some flowers.”
“You didn’t have to do that.”
“I know. I wanted to. Now what can I do to help?”
I told him nothing, maybe he could pour some wine. He poured the wine, then took out the garbage, and unpacked the dishwasher while I prepared the lasagne. We talked about our weeks while it was in the oven and then we ate together sitting at my kitchen bench.
Simple. Kind. Comfortable. How easy it is to be with someone who makes the small gestures, who looks for ways to help.
Cynically, I could say he’s just trying to impress me but my whole mantra these days is about believing what I actually see and hear, not what my head imagines or assumes. And so far, what I see is kindness, consideration, care. Sure, sometimes it feels overeager, like he’s at pains to demonstrate he’s one of the “nice guys”.
And it does get annoying. It does bother me that he’s so agreeable but maybe I’ve just lost sight of what is healthy. Maybe when you’re with someone that’s compatible, things are agreeable, decisions are easy, compromises are exchanged freely without an invisible tally board.
I still have some concerns and he’s working on those. They are not a quick fix – involving his ex and daughter – but in the short time we’ve known each other he’s started taking more practical steps towards resolution.
But the sex … the sex is beyond incredible. It is perhaps the most satisfying I’ve had in years, the care and consideration displayed elsewhere carrying over into my bed. But that’s not to say it’s without passion. It’s intimate and sexy and oh so hot.
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