Just when you think you're beginning to figure out your own life, something comes along that takes you back to the starting blocks. In my case, it was a "something" and a "someone.' The "something" was the fact that I would get less in the divorce settlement that I had estimated which, of course, affected my "do-over" budget. The "someone" was a man I'll just refer to as the Running Man -- RM for short.
My globetrotting friend who had emailed me the photos from Slovenia was relentless in her matchmaking efforts. Repeatedly, I told her I was finished with men after a six-year struggle with the last one. Given my independent nature and self-sufficiency, I'd reconciled myself to growing old alone and that was okay with me. There certainly are worse things than being without a mate. Still, she persisted. She'd invited her tour guide for a visit to her home in the States. The season was over and he didn't have any tours scheduled for the time so he agreed to come. Once he was on his way, her campaign became more and more fierce and the day after he arrived, she insisted I come over for dinner to meet him. Exhausted, I made her agree that if I met him, she would then leave me alone about this guy. Deal. I relented.
RM was preparing dinner for us when I arrived. Our shared love of cooking was one of the many reasons my friend thought we should meet. When I walked into the kitchen, I was looking at the backside of a blond man wearing an apron, sauteeing onion and garlic on the stove. My friend introduced us, RM turned only for a couple of seconds and said it was nice to meet me, then turned back to his work. Of course, I attributed this to the stereotypical rudeness of the French and sat down with my friend to enjoy a glass of wine and conversation. At least I'd have a nice dinner and I wouldn't have to hear about this guy any more.
But as the evening progressed, RM and I discovered that we truly did share much in common, like running, cooking, gardening, reading. More fascinating than what we shared were the differences in our lives -- the way we were raised, where we'd lived, what we'd experienced. Our conversation was lively and intelligent and at the end of the evening, he told me he knew I wasn't interested in a relationship but said, "Dah-ling, I'm really quite taken with you." Now, what hung-out-to-dry middle-aged gal doesn't want to hear that? Especially when that line is delivered by a handsome Slovenian-born, French citizen with a European accent? When I told him a few days later about my first impression of him, he told me he wasn't being rude. He'd been so overwhelmed by my blue eyes that I'd caught him off guard. Charming? Absolutely.
I spent a lot of time with RM during his time in the States. It was fun to get to know someone from a different culture who had lived a very different life from my own. He had decided to stay through the holidays even though our friend would be absent for Christmas (which she was spending on a family trip to India). Not wanting RM to be alone for Christmas, I took him back home to spend it with my huge family. We were friends but our friendship was leading somewhere else and that was both wonderful and frightening at the same time. Part of the "wonderful" was the fact that RM offered to pick me up at the airport, show me northern Italy and Slovenia and help me look at the properties I had put on my list. Since he spoke Slovene and Italian (plus five other languages), my life would be much easier with him there.
I made plans to fly to Trieste in February, one year after my trip to my brother's wedding in Mexico. The second stamp in my passport would be Italian.
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