“This is so good. Once I started reading, I couldn’t stop. Like a good romance novel, only this tale is true.” ~ Darlene Schacht of Time-Warp Wife.
So now you know about the phonecall.
And what he said to his good friend, Greg.
I mean, about declaring that he’d met the woman he was going to marry and all that.
So Greg knows.
And you know.
But you realize that there’s still someone who didn’t know….
Um, yes, that would be me. I was still left wondering.
He loves me…he loves me not. He loves me…
He loves me not . . . ?
The Clock is Ticking
I wouldn’t want to put unnecessary pressure on the guy, but we only had 8 days, remember?
We met on Friday night. Did absolutely nothing on Saturday and Sunday.
Went to dinner together on Monday night.
Now we were already on Tuesday.
And I was flying back down to L.A. on Friday. Our clock was ticking. Ticking loudly as far as I was concerned.
On Tuesday morning I went out for coffee with a close friend of mine. We had both been single at Seminary, but she was married now and I had been a bridesmaid in her wedding (which should come as no surprise).
So we ordered our grande lattes at Starbucks down Hawthorne Street and I told her all about it.
About him, actually.
She let me gush on and on. About how I’d met him at the dinner party and how I believed that he was the man I’d marry. And how we’d been to dinner the night before. And how he’d asked me to accompany him to some isolated island off the coast of Canada.
She suspected that I might be in love. Imagine!
Then I tried to describe him to her. How charming and godly and interesting and funny and, well, good-looking I found him.
I searched for all the words.
But then I looked up and realized that all I needed to do was point to him. Because, sure enough, there he was. Right in front of us.
No, really. I’m not making this up.
We sat at a table looking out on the street and there he was slowly driving past us. The very man!
What was he doing there? And why was he roaming the Hawthorne District?
He couldn’t have possibly have known that I would be there too. And, yet, what would bring us both to this same quaint spot in this small corner of Portland?
And I grew uncertain as to whether I liked all this Mystery . . . or not.
A Romantic Lunch for Two
Matthew had arranged for us to have lunch that day at the historic Edgefield Manor, a county poor farm built in 1911 which had since been turned into a destination resort for the Pacific Northwest.
Poor farm, no more.
Now the Manor was a gorgeous spot for a romantic lunch and we were just the couple for it.
He pulled our chairs in close together and we immediately picked up where we’d left off the night before. I felt there was a new ease and depth in our conversation and I was ready for it. We jumped from one topic to another, sometimes both speaking at once. Laughing. Teasing.
But then the conversation turned toward how we had each spent our morning. It was easy to say where I’d been and how I’d enjoyed catching up with my girlfriend at the café. But what about him? What had he been up to?
And that’s when there was this sudden awkwardness. An inexplicable silence.
I couldn’t contain my curiosity any longer and blurted out, So what were you doing in the Hawthorne District this morning anyway?
More of a demand than a question.
He looked a bit surprised. Almost as if he’d been caught.
For a moment neither of us said a word.
Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a beautifully wrapped gift-box and handed it to me.
Apparently, his idea of an explanation of sorts.
(Dumb question, Lisa. Ugh.)
He didn’t answer but only quietly watched as I opened up the delicate little box.
I carefully lifted the lid and there in front of me was a most unexpected present.
1,000 Ways to Win Her Heart
So are you ready for this?
The box held an exquisite bottle of 1000 By Jean Patou. A rather expensive perfume with the most lovely scent of rich, fresh-cut flowers. A “little something” he had picked up at The Perfume House on Hawthorne Street.
A little something, alright.
This was a new move and it was bold.
Yet another word to add to my growing description of this mysterious man.
So what did it all mean? Did his little gift really mean anything at all? Maybe that was just him and he often went around giving girls a small bottle of pricey perfume.
How could I know??
Rather than feeling confident, his small surprise made me feel even less secure. Especially as it was unaccompanied by any declaration of love.
Where were the words to go with such a gift?
He seemed to be able to talk about nearly everything else: books, music, architecture, travels, and, oh yes, now perfume. But not about me. Or to put it more bluntly: how he felt about me.
And my need to hear it was growing by the day.
No, by the hour. Because we only had Wednesday and Thursday left now.
His silence on the subject of “us” was beginning to get to me.
We quietly parted ways after our long lunch together. But before leaving, he suggested that maybe the following day we could….?
But I suppose that’s his part of the story to tell.
To be continued . . . . See you next Wednesday for Chapter Eight then?
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100 Ways to Love Your Husband: A Life-Long Journey of Learning to Love