“I’m the same way. Even when there’s snow on the sidewalks and the going is icy, I prefer to walk for exercise.”

“You ever hike?”

“No. I’m a little wary about going into the mountains alone.”

“You should go with me sometime. My favorite walks are up the Strawberry Hill and Huckleberry Lake trails. Beautiful at all times of year. I even sneak in one last hike on each trail after the first snowfall. It’s incredibly gorgeous in the mountains then.”

“Oh, I’d love to go up with someone familiar with the area!” she exclaimed. “If I encountered a bear or cougar, I wouldn’t know what to do.”

Blackie laughed. “I know what to do if I come face-to-face with something that’ll eat me, but I’ve never had that experience.”

“You have the look of a man who can handle almost any situation.”

Blackie appreciated the tip of her hat to his physical condition, but he chuckled nevertheless. “I’m a fast runner.”

She rolled her eyes. “Aw, a humble man. I like that.”

Blackie was feeling the same way about her. He liked almost everything about her. Gazing across the table at her, he couldn’t help but think how perfect they were for each other. He wondered if the same thought had occurred to her. He needed to guard his heart, though. The age difference between them was an obstacle. He’d be an idiot to forget that. She was a young and beautiful woman. If she hung out her shingle, every unmarried man in town under forty would be pounding on her door. Why would she settle for a fifty-three-year-old guy who’d probably develop coronary disease over the next decade?

They moved on from the topic of hiking to talk a bit about their disastrous marriages again. Then they discussed life as single people. They shared their tastes in music, literature, and film. He was delighted to learn that she was also an art enthusiast.

Blackie said, “I wouldn’t know a DiCaprio if it ran up and bit me on the ass.”

As he’d hoped, her eyes widened in dismay. “It’s Da Vinci who was the artist. DiCaprio is a film star.”

Blackie gave her an I gotcha wink, and she burst out laughing.

The mood between them became so relaxed that Blackie dared to broach another topic: his expectations of a relationship. “I doubt that I’ll ever want to marry again,” he said. “And I absolutely don’t want a kid at this point in my life. Back in my thirties—hell, even in my forties—I mourned the fact that I’d never have children. But I’ve moved beyond that now.”

Her smile faded, and her expression grew solemn. “I can tell you’re worried about that, but with me, you shouldn’t be. There was a time when I thought of little else but having a baby. In retrospect I wonder if I wasn’t searching for an easy fix to my troubled marriage. Whatever the reason, the last thing I want now is a child. Even if I were happily married again, I’d think twice. I enjoy my life the way it is. I like sleeping in on my days off, walking in the rain, and puttering in my gardens. Oh, and I’m a shopping fanatic as well. Have you ever seen a mother of young children enjoying a shopping excursion?”