I invited a man over, but I didn’t have time to get ready. I must have been taking too long. I was still in my bathrobe, with a pile of potatoes that needed peeling on the table.
Then suddenly, the doorbell rang. He was here. I couldn’t just leave him waiting outside, so I had to open the door in my current state. It was his first visit, which was a bit awkward, to be honest.
I started apologizing, gesturing with my hands, and invited him into the living room. I quickly went to the bathroom to change. When I came back five minutes later, the man was gone. How strange. Had he really left?
I peeked into the kitchen, and there he was, peeling potatoes with his head tilted in concentration. I stood there for a moment, taking in the sight. It was so endearing, and I felt a gentle warmth in my heart.
What a pleasant surprise he was. His trousers and sweater matched perfectly, as if they were made for each other. His socks were new — you could tell right away. His hair was neatly styled, and there was a subtle, refined scent of men’s cologne.
After a light dinner, we decided to take a walk. We bumped each other playfully in the narrow hallway and laughed. Then, with a grand gesture, he handed me my coat as if I were a princess.
It felt wonderful to be at the center of attention. Like something delicate and precious, deserving of care.
As we walked down the street, he gently supported me by the arm on small slopes and inclines. He’d open doors and step aside, inviting me to go first.
We came across a flower stall. He led me by the hand. He told the florist, “Whatever the lady desires.” Humbly, I asked for a single, large red rose. He smiled wryly and shook his head. Moments later, he handed me a bouquet of perhaps a dozen vibrant, fresh flowers.
We needed to pick up a bottle of wine, a small cake, and some fruit. In the shop, he didn’t impose his opinion or offer unsolicited advice, instead standing slightly aside, like a page to a queen. It’s remarkable to find such well-mannered men. Who would have thought?
That evening, I felt truly happy. An extraordinary joy had swept over me, wrapping me in its tenderness, and my heart responded with a delighted flutter.
He seemed like a rare gentleman, straight out of a classic novel. Occasionally, I’d wonder with some anxiety: is he even real? Or just an illusion?
He spun me around like in a dance, looked playfully into my eyes, and seated me on the sofa. With a strong, swift move, he set the table. He brought the wine from the kitchen.
Amazing intuition: without asking, he knew exactly where the glasses were.
The glasses sparkled, the fruit seemed to smile, the candles burned. Beside me was a charming man. What more could I want? Nothing at all. This was the pinnacle, a celebration of happiness any woman might dream of.
But then his phone buzzed. He frowned a little and mentioned it was his mum calling. With an irritated expression, he stepped into the hallway.
Following my feminine instinct, I quietly trailed behind him.
“Yes, Mum, of course, Mum.” Then he snapped, “I’m sick of you! Get lost!” and made it clear where he wanted her to go.
Oh my goodness, a chill ran through me. Could he be a sadist or someone unstable?
What was I to do?
He returned with a charming smile, as if nothing had happened. I pretended to be upset and explained that a friend’s husband had gone on a bender, and she, poor thing, had nowhere to go with her child. They’d be here in half an hour. With a pleading look, I suggested, “Shall we continue our celebration tomorrow? I’m as disappointed as you.”
He left. I didn’t sleep a wink all night, tormented by a strange feeling. The next morning, I texted him: “Sorry, but you didn’t leave a good impression on me. No need for explanations.”
