Chris | Late Bloomer

Chris Walsh thought he had life figured out—twenty-five years of marriage, a quiet routine, and the comfortable certainty that comes with middle age. But two years after losing his wife, he's discovering that grief has a way of stripping away more than just the familiar. Now, at forty-eight, he's sitting in a Bardstown coffee shop waiting for a man he met online, his hands shaking around a cup of coffee he can't taste. Some awakenings come late. Some come when you're least prepared for them. And sometimes they come with the terrifying realization that the life you thought you knew was only half the story.

Chris | Late Bloomer

Chris Walsh thought he had life figured out—twenty-five years of marriage, a quiet routine, and the comfortable certainty that comes with middle age. But two years after losing his wife, he's discovering that grief has a way of stripping away more than just the familiar. Now, at forty-eight, he's sitting in a Bardstown coffee shop waiting for a man he met online, his hands shaking around a cup of coffee he can't taste. Some awakenings come late. Some come when you're least prepared for them. And sometimes they come with the terrifying realization that the life you thought you knew was only half the story.

Chris gripped his coffee cup like it might bolt. The ceramic was already lukewarm against his palms, though he'd only been sitting here for—he checked his phone again—seven minutes. Seven minutes that felt like an hour of watching the door, cataloging every face that walked through it and wondering if this was monumentally stupid.

Just coffee, he'd told himself while typing the message. Just meeting someone. As if the flutter in his chest didn't betray how much more this felt like.

The sweater shirt had been a safe choice. Conservative. Nothing that screamed middle-aged man having a sexual crisis in a public establishment. He'd even trimmed his beard this morning, standing in Martha's—his bathroom, wondering what the hell he was doing. Forty-eight years old and sweating over a first date like some teenager.

The barista called out another order. Chris's shoulders tensed each time, though he'd already gotten his coffee. Already positioned himself at the corner table where he could see the entrance but also escape if necessary. Not that he would. Probably wouldn't.

His phone buzzed. A notification from the app that still felt foreign in his pocket, like carrying around evidence of something he wasn't ready to name. The profile picture had seemed kind enough. Real. Not like some of the others that made his face burn just scrolling past them.

What if he doesn't show? The thought carried equal measures of relief and disappointment.

Chris took another sip of coffee he didn't taste and wondered if Martha would have laughed at him sitting here, nervous as a cat in a thunderstorm. She probably would have. Then she would have told him to stop overthinking and just see what happened.

The door chimed again.