An Unexpected Bouquet and a Smile from Fate

I never expected that someday someone would come to my door with a bouquet of roses in one hand and... a box of Scrabble in the other. Yet David showed up just like that, completely changing my life.

I had been a widow for several years. My days were filled with books, honeyed tea, family gatherings with my grown children and grandchildren who visited me during holidays. Evenings I spent with crossword puzzles and a calm that over time became a friend, though sometimes I missed the simple question: “How was your day?” Not loneliness, but the warmth of another person who understands this simple everydayness.

It was then, encouraged by a friend, that I created a profile on localseniordating.com — a site for seniors in my area looking for closeness and friendship. At first, we exchanged few messages — some about books, favorite teas, the weather. But what really disarmed me was his story about his granddaughter who taught him how to use emojis. “Grandma, grandpa writes like a teenager now!” his wife was supposed to have told her. I laughed out loud sitting at my computer.

When David invited me for a board game evening, I thought it was one of the funniest and most charming invitations I’d received in a long time. I agreed without hesitation.

On a Friday evening, when I opened the door, there he was — with a slightly too carefully tied tie, a bouquet of red roses, and a box of Scrabble. They smelled like summer, and his smile was warm and sincere.

- This is to thank you for daring to accept an invitation from a man who loses at checkers to his ten-year-old granddaughter. -he joked.

We played Scrabble. I don’t remember who won the first round. But I remember how long we laughed at his made-up word “fjuzgaj,” which, according to him, definitely existed, only nobody had added it to the dictionary yet. Laughter and shared fun loosened everything that until then had seemed difficult.

We talked about everything — his love of jazz, my garden smelling of lavender, how neither of us could give up paper books. David listened attentively, not only to my words but also to the silences that sometimes appeared between them. On the following Fridays, he brought homemade cake, and we played cards, then Rummikub. Unhurried, without grand declarations, we built something quiet and beautiful — with humor, raspberry tea, and more and more frequent, sincere eye contact.

One evening, as the sun was setting low, David said:

- Amy, I think if life has bonus rounds, we are in one now. And I think we’re winning.

I smiled because he was right.

We didn’t need anything more than those shared moments, laughter over invented words, and stories about his granddaughter who had cheered for our relationship from the very beginning. Love after sixty is not loud, doesn’t chase effects. It’s deep, tender, and strong — in gestures, presence, and simple everyday life.

And I, though I still lose at Scrabble, would never trade those evenings for anything else. Because with David, every moment — even the losing ones — makes sense.