Instead of thanking me for the observation, she smiled in a way that made me suspicious.

“I have an idea,” she said. “Why don’t you bake a pie yourself and take it to Mr Davis?”

“That miserable man?” I replied. “He cannot even manage a polite greeting.”

“I think you’ve misunderstood him. He’s probably just shy,” Kate said. “Besides, I’ve noticed the way he looks at you.”

I laughed.

Part 2:

“If he is interested, then he should be the one to approach me. A gentleman courts a lady, not the other way around.”

Kate looked toward Andrew, and he squeezed her hand as though the two of them were sharing a private joke.

The next morning, I was surprised to see Mr Davis walking toward the yard.

“Margaret,” he began awkwardly, “would you consider having dinner with me?”

“For you, it is Miss Miller,” I corrected him.

His expression tightened.

“Very well, Miss Miller. May I invite you to dinner?”

“I will permit it.”

He gave a short nod and started walking away.

“Is that your entire invitation?” I called after him. “You have not told me when or where.”

He stopped without turning around.

“Tonight. Seven o’clock. My house.”

I spent the rest of the day preparing.

At exactly seven, I stood outside his door with my heart beating more quickly than I cared to admit.

When he opened it, he looked just as severe as usual.

Inside, he pointed toward a chair without pulling it out for me. Clearly, gentlemanly behaviour was not one of his strengths.

Dinner began awkwardly. Our conversation was stiff and filled with uncomfortable pauses until I mentioned that I loved jazz.

His entire face changed.

For the first time, the gloomy neighbour disappeared, replaced by someone almost youthful.

“I would play my favourite record for you,” he said. “I might even invite you to dance, but my record player stopped working.”

“You do not need music to dance,” I replied.

The words surprised both of us.

Mr Davis stood and extended his hand.

I accepted it.

We moved slowly across the room while he hummed an old melody I had not heard in years. The dim light, the familiar tune and the warmth of another person beside me softened something inside my heart.

For the first time in a very long while, I did not feel lonely.

When the evening ended, I told him I should return home.

He walked me to the door, then hesitated.

“You can call me Peter,” he said quietly.

“And you may call me Margaret.”

Before I could step outside, he leaned closer.

For a moment, I froze.

Then his lips gently touched mine.

The kiss was hesitant and brief, but it awakened emotions I had thought were long gone.

When he pulled away, he studied my expression carefully.

I simply smiled.

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