Part 2:

“If he is interested, then he should be the one to approach me. A gentleman courts a lady, not the other way around.”

Kate looked toward Andrew, and he squeezed her hand as though the two of them were sharing a private joke.

The next morning, I was surprised to see Mr Davis walking toward the yard.

“Margaret,” he began awkwardly, “would you consider having dinner with me?”

“For you, it is Miss Miller,” I corrected him.

His expression tightened.

“Very well, Miss Miller. May I invite you to dinner?”

“I will permit it.”

He gave a short nod and started walking away.

“Is that your entire invitation?” I called after him. “You have not told me when or where.”

He stopped without turning around.

“Tonight. Seven o’clock. My house.”

I spent the rest of the day preparing.

At exactly seven, I stood outside his door with my heart beating more quickly than I cared to admit.

When he opened it, he looked just as severe as usual.

Inside, he pointed toward a chair without pulling it out for me. Clearly, gentlemanly behaviour was not one of his strengths.

Dinner began awkwardly. Our conversation was stiff and filled with uncomfortable pauses until I mentioned that I loved jazz.

His entire face changed.

For the first time, the gloomy neighbour disappeared, replaced by someone almost youthful.

“I would play my favourite record for you,” he said. “I might even invite you to dance, but my record player stopped working.”

“You do not need music to dance,” I replied.

The words surprised both of us.

Mr Davis stood and extended his hand.

I accepted it.

We moved slowly across the room while he hummed an old melody I had not heard in years. The dim light, the familiar tune and the warmth of another person beside me softened something inside my heart.

For the first time in a very long while, I did not feel lonely.

When the evening ended, I told him I should return home.

He walked me to the door, then hesitated.

“You can call me Peter,” he said quietly.

“And you may call me Margaret.”

Before I could step outside, he leaned closer.

For a moment, I froze.

Then his lips gently touched mine.

The kiss was hesitant and brief, but it awakened emotions I had thought were long gone.

When he pulled away, he studied my expression carefully.

I simply smiled.

“Good night, Peter.”

The cool air touched my warm cheeks as I crossed the yard, but the smile remained on my face long after I returned home.

After that evening, Peter became part of my everyday life.

We read books from his enormous collection, experimented with new recipes and laughed over neighbourhood gossip. While I cooked, he hummed my favourite songs.

His home, once silent and gloomy, gradually filled with warmth.

I discovered a happiness I had not felt in years.

Even Kate’s sharp remarks stopped bothering me. I had Peter now, and my attention was no longer focused entirely on my son’s household.

On Thanksgiving, I invited Peter to dinner because I did not want him spending the holiday alone.

At some point, I noticed him quietly entering the kitchen to speak with Kate.

Curious, I followed them.

“Kate, I wanted to ask about the record player,” Peter said.

“I’ve already ordered it,” she replied. “It should arrive soon. You have no idea how grateful I am. You’ve made my life much easier. I honestly don’t know how you tolerate her, but the record player will be yours soon. Thank you for agreeing to this entire performance.”

I stopped in the doorway.

Her words struck me like a slap.

A performance?

A record player?

Tolerating me?

“So this has all been a game?” I demanded.

Kate spun around, her face turning pale.

“Oh…”

“Would someone care to explain?”

Andrew hurried into the kitchen.

“What happened?”

“Your wife created some sort of scheme against me!”

Andrew released a long sigh.

“It was not only Kate’s idea, Mom. I was involved too. We thought you and Mr Davis might make one another happy, but neither of you would have made the first move. So we gave him some encouragement.”

“Encouragement?”

“We offered him a new record player in exchange for taking you on several dates.”

Kate looked at him in disbelief.

“Andrew, why would you tell her like that?”

“At least my son is finally being honest with me,” I snapped.

Kate’s patience broke.

“Your son was just as desperate as I was! You criticised everything I did. You interfered in our marriage, our home and every small decision I made. I am pregnant, exhausted and constantly stressed. We needed you to focus on something other than us.”

Her words hurt because part of me knew they were true.

“The plan worked,” she continued. “You were happy and occupied, and I finally had room to breathe.”

I turned toward Peter.

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