Five years. That’s how long she’d been out of high school. She did the college thing and graduated a year early while watching friends pair up and marry. She’d gone to weddings, even been in a few, and dined and danced and celebrated. Then she had gone home alone.

It had been ten years. And sure, she had dated. One was, in fact, quite successful and had offered to show her his cars. She had declined. Maybe her beliefs about consumerism had been too rigid. Probably. But it was too late. He had no doubt found someone who gladly looked at his cars and whatever else he had to show her.

Another man was just about perfect, but his faith wasn’t in sync with hers; hers being sincerely Christian and his being sincerely nothing. She might’ve made an attempt, but knew it would’ve ended up with compromised faith and relationship, both. And the others – she couldn’t explain other than to say any connection was partial at best.

Twenty years. It was okay. Really. She found an out-of-the-way table at the back of the coffee shop and settled into a predictably semi-comfortable chair. Valentine’s decore framed the large front windows with pinks and reds. Ah yes. The time of year for couples or coupling, but not singles. Some would make an evening of trying with someone new. She didn’t. It seemed false.

She sipped her favored order: a hot, mild brew with no creamer and just a splash of milk. Then she closed her eyes.

Looking back, she tried to remember when she had stopped praying for someone in her life; when she had stopped dreaming or wishing or longing.

The friends who had married had fallen into a sort of comfortable convenience. A few had truly remained happily in love. Some had divorced over various reasons. What was the difference? The difference between remaining single and becoming single again was that one had acquired sad memories. Her grandpa had said, It’s better to be lonely than miserable, and he was nearly always right.

But loneliness held its own sort of, if not misery, then sadness. Or maybe not sadness, but emptiness. Life was fine. It was. Truly it was. But it held no spark. Everything was predictable. So predictable. Maybe she’d go home and do her laundry.

Mind if I join you?

Her eyes blinked open. She looked around. The coffee shop had filled up in the short time she’d been contemplating her love life.

Sure?

He set down a foamy espresso and glazed donut, then settled into the chair opposite her. And he had her laughing within two minutes of their introductions. She found herself describing work situations that suddenly seemed amusing. They found they had a few mutual acquaintances and an aversion to international travel. Conversation was easy. Banter was as natural as breathing. And the future? It  was suddenly anything but predictable.

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