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“You didn’t have to walk me home.” The greying man tugged at his ear while stuffing his other hand into one of his deep coat pockets.
“It was no trouble.” He muttered. “Any gentleman would do the same.”
“Gentleman, yes, but not a man.” There was a lightness to the young woman’s voice. Not flirtatious—thank heavens—but something very near to awe. He had heard it countless times; the solemnity artfully punctuated with polite gasps of approval. To her own right, the woman was not without graces. To venture far beyond a mere polite observation without careful consideration would be a mistake; however, it was a fact that must be stated some time or another. Indeed, it would not have been a coronary disaster to learn she had some young man—or even a good dozen—strung along by the ends of her skirts.
She unlocked the door to the boarding house; coaxing it open slightly before turning back to the man standing on her doorstep.
“Could I interest you in a drink for your troubles? Something warm perhaps? I have some fine scotch saved somewhere.”
“I must be getting back to my own lodgings.” A smile crept gradually across lightly painted lips.
“Hero without reward and all that?”
“Not at all.”
“Don’t tell me you are going to use the ‘too old’ bit?” The man removed his hat and ran a set of gently tapered fingers through the pomaded forestry of greying curls. A golden band placed strategically on his left hand caught the first shards of moonlight and cast it away in several directions at once.
The imagery was infinitely fresh in his mind, despite the expected rust of age.
Simplicity.
Comfort.
Joy.
The man stepped away from the doorstep with a tilt of his head, but the young woman did nothing to end the conversation. The door did not close and she did not move inside. A midnight chill was afflicted upon the accursed house until, at last, an answer drifted over his waning shoulder.
“You had best save that scotch for a younger man. He would appreciate the sentiment a great deal more. As would you.” There was little to say then; no answer to be hurled out into the waning light. The only proof anything had been said at all rested upon the shadowed silhouette steadily retreating into the darkness.
Shrinking.
Fading.
Disappearing.
Dying.
The mist and fog of life rose from the ground and began to swallow him entirely from the young woman’s vision until—