Julia met Mark at a friend’s dinner party, the kind where the food was better than the conversation until he sat down next to her. He asked about her work — she restored old furniture, mostly estate pieces — and actually listened to the answer. Most people’s eyes glazed over by the second sentence.
“I like people who fix things,” he said. “I’m an engineer. Different scale, same instinct.” They talked until the host started clearing plates around them, a not-so-subtle hint. Mark laughed about it, walked her to her car, and asked if she’d want coffee sometime without seventeen other people around. She said yes before she’d fully thought it through.
The coffee turned into dinner, dinner turned into a standing Thursday date, and within two months, Julia was surprised by how easy it all felt. Mark was steady, funny in a dry way, the kind of man who remembered small things and brought them up weeks later. He mentioned a son early on — Tim, thirteen, sharp, a little guarded. “He’s had a rough few years,” Mark said. “You’ll understand when you meet him.” Julia didn’t think much of it then.