The thing about men in their sixties is that they never have it as together as they want you to believe. The ego still rules on high, and reputation weighs more than gold. What was different about Sam, at least when I met him, was the charisma. The charismatic man who believes his own bullshit carries a different air than the man who is merely spinning a tale on my behalf; believe me, it never is.
Sam and I met on a cruise and started a fling. Light hearted and totally harmless. Dinners on board, a couple of gifts sent to me, some calls and texts exchanged once we disembarked. I found myself enjoying his company; It wasn’t serious, but it was fun. As a rule, I don’t hold my breath for men, and I don’t ask them to hold theirs for me. It’s an understanding I never had any difficulty with, until Sam— well really until Sam’s adult child got involved.
I remember the first time I met Tilly. Sam had a quick dinner out with his daughter and asked me to join. He introduced me as his girlfriend and I watched the polite look on Tilly’s face disappear. She was now shooting daggers at me from across the table at a Chili’s, possessive much? This woman is in her thirties and was looking at me like I’m the evil stepmother trying to take away her allowance.