Quando o rico restaurateur Nate conhece a pé-no-chão Beth em um posto de gasolina, seu charme o pega desprevenido. Intrigado, mas cauteloso com decepções amorosas do passado, Nate a convida para um encontro com uma reviravolta. Será que sua farsa de ser garçom em um restaurante que ele possui revelará suas verdadeiras intenções?
Respingos de tinta neon cobriam minhas roupas, e eu não percebi o quão ridículo eu parecia até que parei no posto de gasolina. Entrei, sentindo-me dolorido e um pouco tonto de uma partida intensa de paintball, e foi quando eu a vi.
O caixa.
Um caixa em um posto de gasolina | Fonte: Midjourney
Seu cabelo loiro estava preso em um coque bagunçado, alguns fios escapando ao redor do rosto. Quando ela me notou e sorriu, juro que meu coração deu uma cambalhota.
“Se o Exterminador do Futuro entrasse agora”, ela provocou, “ele definitivamente não pediria suas roupas”.
Pisquei. Por um segundo, não sabia se ria ou se derretia no chão.
“Eu… eu estava apenas jogando paintball,” respondi timidamente. Minhas bochechas queimaram no que eu só podia esperar que não fosse um rubor óbvio.
Um homem tímido | Fonte: Midjourney
Ela sorriu mais largamente, seus olhos brilhando de diversão. “Sério? Esse foi meu primeiro palpite.” Ela me olhou de cima a baixo, fazendo um show de inspecionar o dano que a tinta tinha feito em minhas roupas. “Você ganhou, ou…?”
“Uh, sim. Meu time venceu.” Dei de ombros, tentando parecer casual, embora fosse difícil me sentir composto sob seu olhar brincalhão.
“Bem, parabéns, soldado. Precisa de um lanche da vitória?” Ela piscou para mim e acenou para a prateleira de doces, seu tom ainda pingando com falsa seriedade.
Uma mulher trabalhando como caixa de posto de gasolina | Fonte: Midjourney
Não consegui deixar de rir. Essa mulher — Beth, dizia seu crachá — era uma lufada de ar fresco. Não sei o que deu em mim, mas a próxima coisa que percebi foi que deixei escapar: “Você gostaria de jantar comigo algum dia?”
Ela piscou, o sorriso desaparecendo levemente enquanto a surpresa brilhava em seus olhos. Por um momento, temi ter interpretado tudo errado. Mas então ela inclinou a cabeça e seu sorriso voltou com força total.
“Certo. Claro… só não jogue paintball, ok?”
Um caixa sorridente de posto de gasolina | Fonte: Midjourney
Nós trocamos números, e eu saí daquele posto de gasolina com um encontro para esperar ansiosamente. Eu estava animado, mas não demorou muito para a ansiedade se instalar.
Já fui queimado muitas vezes antes. As mulheres estavam mais interessadas na ideia de Nate, o rico dono de restaurante do que em Nate, o homem que gostava de bandas indie obscuras e lia mangás. Então, eu criei um pequeno teste. Talvez fosse loucura, mas eu tinha que saber.
Convidei Beth para meu restaurante italiano de luxo no centro da cidade. Era a joia da coroa do meu império e agora também seria o palco no qual eu exporia as verdadeiras intenções de Beth.
O interior de um restaurante de luxo | Fonte: Midjourney
Eu assisti do outro lado da sala enquanto Beth entrava com um vestido vermelho simples que a fazia parecer linda sem esforço algum. A equipe já sabia do plano, então corri para cumprimentá-la, meu coração batendo forte.
“Ei,” eu disse, guiando-a para uma mesa de canto. “Estou tão feliz que você veio. Eu guardei a melhor mesa para nós.”
Beth sorriu, olhando ao redor. “Ah? Você vem aqui com tanta frequência que sabe qual mesa é a melhor?”
Uma mulher falando com seu companheiro | Fonte: Midjourney
Eu ri enquanto me sentava em frente a ela, mexendo no guardanapo. “É, eu trabalho aqui. Acabei de terminar meu turno, na verdade.”
Os olhos dela piscaram de surpresa, mas seu sorriso característico rapidamente os substituiu. “Sério? Eu sempre quis ser garçonete. Talvez eu entre para um turno depois do jantar.”
Eu ri nervosamente, observando sua reação de perto. “Eu não recomendo. O pagamento é horrível, e as horas? Brutais .”
Como se fosse uma deixa, um dos meus garçons se aproximou com os cardápios e piscou sutilmente para mim.
Um homem sentado à mesa com seu par | Fonte: Midjourney
“Bom te ver, Nate. Ainda se recuperando daquela correria do almoço?” ele perguntou, desempenhando seu papel perfeitamente.
“Sim, mal sobrevivi”, eu disse com um sorriso forçado.
O jantar chegou, e logo estávamos conversando e rindo como velhos amigos. Ela me contou sobre seu amor por livros, e como ela costumava querer escrever, mas acabou trabalhando no posto de gasolina para ajudar sua mãe.
Ela era engraçada e perspicaz. Seu humor me pegava desprevenido a cada momento e eu estava completamente encantado por ela.
Uma mulher em um restaurante | Fonte: Midjourney
Estar com ela parecia… fácil.
Conforme a sobremesa se aproximava, meu gerente de restaurante, Tom, veio até mim, parecendo furioso. Claro, era tudo parte do ato, mas Beth não sabia disso.
“Nate!” Tom retrucou, me encarando. “Você pulou os últimos 15 minutos do seu turno. Que diabos? Volte para a cozinha e lave a louça, ou você está demitido! ”
Os olhos de Beth se arregalaram, e eu pude ver o choque dela.
Uma mulher de olhos arregalados | Fonte: Midjourney
Beth se levantou, seu rosto suavizando com preocupação. “Ei, está tudo bem. Se você precisa ir, vá. Nós sempre podemos—”
“Sinto muito mesmo”, interrompi, sentindo o peso da mentira. “Vou ter que terminar lá atrás. Eu, uh, te mando uma mensagem depois?”
“Claro”, ela respondeu com uma piscadela.
E com isso, eu me desculpei, indo em direção à cozinha, minha mente correndo. Eu precisava de tempo para pensar e planejar meu próximo movimento, mas eu mal estava lá há dois minutos quando a porta da cozinha rangeu ao abrir.
Entrada de funcionários na cozinha de um restaurante | Fonte: Pexels
Beth entrou, seu rosto brilhando com uma mistura de diversão e determinação.
“Você ainda não começou?” ela provocou, arregaçando as mangas. “Vamos. Vamos lavar esses pratos juntos e depois dar uma volta no píer.”
Olhei para ela, completamente chocada. Como eu tive tanta sorte? Uma onda de emoções tomou conta de mim. Estava claro agora que Beth realmente gostava de mim, o suficiente para lavar uma montanha de pratos sujos para que pudéssemos continuar nosso encontro no píer… como eu ia dizer a ela que tudo isso era um teste?
Um homem pensativo | Fonte: Midjourney
Os pratos tilintavam enquanto esfregávamos lado a lado, nossos cotovelos ocasionalmente batendo. A culpa me apunhalava cada vez que Beth sorria para mim como se isso fosse a coisa mais natural do mundo — estar no fundo de um restaurante de luxo, lavando pratos depois de um primeiro encontro.
Eu não conseguia parar de olhar para ela, me perguntando como alguém como ela podia ser tão indiferente a tudo.
Depois que terminamos, Beth limpou as mãos no vestido, completamente imperturbável pelas manchas de água. Ela olhou para mim com um brilho brincalhão nos olhos.
Uma mulher sorridente na cozinha de um restaurante | Fonte: Midjourney
“Bem, não posso dizer que esperava acabar com os cotovelos na espuma hoje à noite, mas não foi nada mal. Então, o que acontece agora? Vamos caminhar até o píer ou você vai me fazer limpar a cozinha também?”
Eu ri, mas o som ficou preso na minha garganta. Eu tinha que confessar a ela. Era agora ou nunca.
“Beth, preciso te contar uma coisa”, eu disse, minha voz um pouco séria demais para o momento.
Ela inclinou a cabeça, seu sorriso desaparecendo um pouco. “Ok…?”
Uma mulher sorrindo incerta | Fonte: Midjourney
Respirei fundo, a verdade pronta para explodir de mim. “Eu não sou um garçom. Bem, eu costumava ser, mas não sou mais. Na verdade, sou o dono deste lugar. Sou dono deste restaurante e de outros dois na cidade.”
Beth piscou, suas sobrancelhas se unindo em confusão. “Espera… o quê?”
“A coisa toda hoje à noite foi uma armação,” admiti, a culpa rastejando em minha voz. “Eu queria ver se você gostava de mim pelo que eu sou, não pelo dinheiro ou pelo restaurante. Eu sei que é loucura, mas eu já fui queimado antes, e não queria arriscar de novo.”
Um homem culpado | Fonte: Midjourney
Por um momento, Beth apenas ficou ali, sua expressão ilegível. Meu coração batia forte no peito enquanto o silêncio se estendia. Então, ela cruzou os braços e me lançou um olhar longo e penetrante.
“Então, deixa eu ver se entendi,” ela finalmente disse, seu tom cuidadosamente neutro. “Você mentiu para mim a noite toda porque achou que eu poderia ser… o quê? Uma interesseira?”
Estremeci. “Não foi assim. Eu só… Eu tive experiências ruins. Mas eu gosto tanto de você… Eu só não queria estragar tudo.”
Seu olhar suavizou-se um pouco, mas ainda havia um brilho de mágoa em seus olhos.
Uma mulher na cozinha com uma expressão magoada | Fonte: Midjourney
“Então, você estava me testando.”
“Eu sei que parece terrível, e é”, eu disse rapidamente, me aproximando. “Mas eu tinha que ter certeza de que você gostava de mim por mim.”
Beth ficou em silêncio por um momento, processando. Então ela balançou a cabeça com uma pequena risada incrédula.
“Então… eu passei no seu teste?”
Eu assenti sinceramente, sentindo o peso da noite se afastar dos meus ombros. “Com louvor.”
Um homem sério | Fonte: Midjourney
Ela sorriu de volta, e sua brincadeira retornou rapidamente. “Ah, e para que fique registrado — a comida do seu restaurante não é tão boa assim. Da próxima vez, vamos para outro lugar, um lugar onde não vamos acabar lavando louça, ok?”
Eu ri, o som ecoando pela cozinha vazia. “Você conseguiu.”
Aqui vai outra história: em um passeio em família, minha sogra trocou meu frango suave por uma opção extra-picante, me deixando humilhado em um restaurante lotado. Enquanto minha boca queimava e Linda sorria, decidi planejar um jantar que lhe ensinaria uma lição que ela nunca esqueceria!
My First Love and I Agreed to Travel the World Together After Retirement — But When I Arrived at the Meeting Spot, a Man Was Waiting for Me
When John returns to the bench where he and his first love once promised to reunite at 65, he doesn’t expect her husband to show up instead. But when the past collides with the present, old promises give way to unexpected beginnings… and a new kind of love steps quietly into the light.
When I was 17, Lucy was everything to me.
We had it all. From secret notes folded into squares and passed under desks, first kisses under the bleachers, promises whispered like prayers into the dark. And one of those promises was simple.
A young couple | Source: Unsplash
“If we can’t be together now, let’s meet at 65, when we’re well into our lives. If we’re single, then let’s see where we’ll go. If we’re married, then we’ll catch up about our spouses and children if we have any… Deal?”
“Deal,” Lucy had said, smiling sadly.
We picked a place. A little park with a pond on the edge of a quiet city. A wooden bench, nestled beneath a pair of sprawling old trees. No matter what.
Life, of course, pulled us apart the way it always does. Her family moved across the ocean. I stayed, put down roots, lived a long and full life.
I did it all.
A bench in a park | Source: Unsplash
Marriage, two kids, a messy divorce, five grandkids who now tower over me. But through it all. Birthdays, holidays, years stacked on years… but on Lucy’s birthday, I thought of her.
And when I turned 65, I packed a bag and went back to the city, and checked into a motel. I felt like 17 again.
Suddenly, life was bright again. Full of possibilities. Full of hope.
The exterior of a motel room | Source: Pexels
The air was crisp, the trees dressed in golden jackets, and the sky hung low and soft, like it was holding its breath. I followed the winding path, each step slow, deliberate, like I was retracing a dream I wasn’t sure was real.
My hands were jammed into my coat pockets, my fingers curled tight around a photograph I didn’t need to look at anymore.
I saw it. The bench. Our bench. Still nestled between the two ancient trees, their branches reaching over like old friends leaning in close. The wood was darker than I remembered, worn smooth by time and weather… but it was still ours.
A bench in a park | Source: Unsplash
And it wasn’t empty.
A man was sitting there. Mid-sixties, maybe a bit older. He had neatly trimmed gray hair and wore a charcoal suit that didn’t quite match the softness of the afternoon. He looked like he’d been waiting, but not with kindness.
He stood slowly as I approached, as if bracing himself for a confrontation.
“Are you John?” he asked, his voice flat.
“Yeah, I am,” I said, my heart inching into my throat. “Where’s Lucy? Who are you?”
An elderly man sitting on a bench | Source: Pexels
His eyes flickered once, but he held his posture. He looked like every breath cost him something.
“Arthur,” he said simply. “She’s not coming.”
“Why? Is she okay?” I froze.
He took a sharp breath, then let it out through his nose.
An elderly man looking down | Source: Pexels
“Well, John. Lucy is my wife,” he said tightly. “She’s been my wife for 35 years. She told me about your little agreement. I didn’t want her to come. So, I’m here to tell you… she’s not.“
His words landed like sleet. Wet, sharp, and unwanted.
And then, through the trees, over the sound of leaves skipping along the path, I heard footsteps.
Trees in a park | Source: Pexels
Quick. Light. Urgent.
A figure appeared, weaving through the golden blur of the afternoon. Small, fast, and breathless. Silver hair pulled back in a loose knot that bounced with every step. A scarf trailed behind her like a forgotten ribbon.
Lucy.
My Lucy.
“Lucy! What are you doing here?” Arthur spun around, startled, his eyes wide.
An elderly woman standing outside | Source: Pexels
She didn’t slow down. Her voice rang out. She sounded like herself but more… determined.
Clear. Controlled. Sharp as frost.
“Just because you tried to keep me locked up at home, Arthur, doesn’t mean I wouldn’t find a way out! You’re ridiculous for pulling that stunt!”
The exterior of a home | Source: Pexels
She must’ve left right after him. Maybe she’d waited until he turned the corner. Maybe she watched him walk away and made her decision the moment that door clicked shut.
Whatever it was, the sight of her now… bold and defiant, stirred something in me. Something fierce. Something young.
Lucy stopped in front of me, chest rising and falling. Her cheeks were pink from the cold, from the sprint, maybe even from nerves. But her eyes, my God, those eyes, they softened when they met mine.
A close up of an elderly woman | Source: Pexels
“John,” she said gently, as though no years had passed at all. “I’m so glad to see you.”
Then she hugged me. Not out of politeness. Not for show. It was the kind of embrace that reached all the way back through time. One that said I never forgot about you. One that said you mattered all along.
Arthur cleared his throat behind us, sharp and intentional. And just like that, the spell broke.
An elderly couple embracing at a park | Source: Pexels
We ended up at a coffee shop nearby. The three of us, sitting in a triangle of awkward energy. Arthur scowled into his coffee. Lucy and I talked, haltingly at first, then like old friends who’d been on pause too long.
She showed me a picture of her daughter. I showed her my grandson’s graduation photo. Our voices filled the silence with old stories and echoes.
Then, suddenly, Lucy leaned across the table and brushed her fingers over mine. My body almost recoiled at her touch… Arthur was right there.
People at a coffee shop | Source: Pexels
“John,” she began softly. “Do you still have feelings for me? After all this time?”
I hesitated. I didn’t know how to answer this question. Maybe… maybe I did have feelings for her. But maybe they were just for the memory of who we were.
“Maybe a little,” I said. “But mostly, I’m just happy to see that you’re okay.”
A close up of an elderly man | Source: Pexels
We parted ways without exchanging numbers. There were no grand declarations. No lingering stares. It was just a quiet understanding. Closure, I thought. The kind that aches but doesn’t… bleed.
Then, a week later, someone knocked on my door.
It was late afternoon. The sun was dipping low, casting long shadows across the living room floor. I wasn’t expecting anyone. I shuffled to the door, still in socks, a mug of lukewarm tea in my hand. When I opened it, I blinked.
A person standing on a porch | Source: Pexels
Arthur.
He stood stiffly on my porch, hands shoved deep into his coat pockets. His posture was defensive, like a man bracing for a swing.
“Are you planning on stealing my wife, John?” he asked bluntly, his eyes fixed somewhere over my shoulder.
“Excuse me?” I stared at him.
“She told me that you used to be in love with her,” he said. “Still might be. So, I’d like to know.”
I set the mug down on the side table in the hallway, my hands were suddenly unsteady.
A mug of tea on a table | Source: Unsplash
“I couldn’t steal Lucy even if I tried, Arthur. She’s not someone to be taken. She’s her own person. And she loves you. That’s enough for me. I was just honoring a promise that we made decades ago. I didn’t go to the park with any expectations other than to see Lucy all happy in her old age.”
Arthur looked like he didn’t know what to do with that. He rocked slightly on his heels, eyes scanning the floorboards.
“We’re having a barbecue next weekend, John,” he said after a moment of silence. “You’re invited, okay?”
An elderly man sitting on a porch step | Source: Pexels
“Seriously?” I blinked.
“She wants you there,” he said, dragging each word out like it tasted bad to him. “And… Lucy wants to set you up with someone.”
The air between us thickened. He looked like he wanted to evaporate.
“And you’re okay with that?” I laughed.
“No, but I’m trying. Honestly, I am,” he sighed.
A smiling older woman reading a magazine | Source: Pexels
“How did you even find me?” I called after him as he turned to leave.
“Lucy remembered your address. She said that you never moved and told me where to find you.”
And just like that, he walked off down the street, leaving behind silence and something unexpected: the sense that maybe this story simply wasn’t over yet.
An elderly man walking away | Source: Pixabay
After Arthur left, I felt a surge of energy. It wasn’t about Lucy. It was true, what I’d told her husband. I didn’t have any expectations about Lucy and us rekindling what we’d had in our youth.
If I was truly honest with myself, I wasn’t sure about being in a relationship again. At my age, was it worth all the drama? I was fine with just being a grandfather.
I went about my day making French toast and humming to myself. I didn’t know who Lucy wanted to set me up with, but the thought of getting out of the house felt good.
A plate of French toast | Source: Unsplash
The next weekend, I showed up with a bottle of wine and low expectations.
Lucy greeted me with a hug and wink, the same way she used to years ago when we snuck off during school breaks. Arthur gave me a grunt that was more bark than bite. And before I could fully step into the backyard, Lucy looped her arm through mine.
People in a backyard | Source: Pexels
“Come help me pour drinks,” she said.
We walked into the kitchen, the clink of cutlery and hum of laughter drifting behind us. She opened the fridge, pulled out a pitcher of lemonade and handed me a glass.
“She’s here, you know,” Lucy said, pouring another glass of lemonade. “The woman that I’d like you to meet.”
“Really?” I asked, already knowing.
A glass of lemonade | Source: Unsplash
“Grace, that’s her name,” Lucy smiled. “She’s a friend from the community center. She lost her husband six years ago. She reads like it’s a full-time job, volunteers at the library and she’s got a thing for terrible wine… and even worse puns. Seriously, John, she’s the kind of woman who remembers your birthday and shows up with carrot cake before you even ask.”
I glanced through the kitchen window. Grace was outside, laughing at something Arthur said, her sunhat slightly askew, earrings swinging. She looked comfortable.
The interior of a library | Source: Unsplash
Open.
“She’s kind,” Lucy added, softer now. “The kind of kind that doesn’t need a spotlight, you know?”
“Why are you telling me all this?” I asked, sipping the lemonade.
Lucy looked at me for a long moment.
A smiling older woman | Source: Pexels
“Because you’ve loved well, John. And you’ve lost hard… And I think it’s time you met someone who might just understand both.”
Back outside, Grace smiled when I approached her. We walked over grilled corn and folded lawn chairs, our conversation easy and light. She teased Arthur. She called me out for trying to win a card game by bluffing.
She laughed with her whole chest, head thrown back like the sky was in on the joke.
Corn on a grill | Source: Pexels
After six months of letters tucked into books, long walks, and sunrise breakfasts at quiet coffee shops, Grace and I were officially dating. It wasn’t electric.
But it was true.
One day, the four of us took a trip to the ocean. A rental cottage. Seafood dinners. Late-night poker games.
A seafood boil on a tray | Source: Pexels
Arthur eventually stopped treating me like a threat and started calling me by my first name. Without ice in his voice. That was progress.
On the last day, I sat beside Lucy on the sand, warm light pouring over everything. Grace and Arthur were wading out into the water, half-challenging the waves.
“You don’t have to cling to the past, John,” Lucy said gently. “You’re allowed to move forward. But never forget what the past gave you. Never forget what Miranda gave you… a family. All of that is why you are who you are…”
Birds flying over the sea | Source: Unsplash
And in that moment, watching the two people we had grown to love splash in the sea, I realized she was right.
Lucy and I weren’t each other’s endings. But we’d helped each other begin again. And that was more than I’d ever hoped for. Maybe I needed more than just being a grandfather…
As the sun dipped lower, Grace walked back toward me, barefoot and glowing, a seashell cupped in her palm.
A seashell on the beach | Source: Unsplash
“I found this,” she said, holding it out. “It’s chipped. But it’s also kind of perfect, don’t you think?”
“Like most good things,” I said, taking the shell and tracing the ridges with my thumb.
She sat beside me, her shoulder brushing mine. Neither of us spoke for a moment. The tide whispered its rhythm, slow and steady.
An elderly couple standing together | Source: Pexels
“I saw you with Lucy,” Grace said softly. “I know you have history.”
“We were young,” I nodded. “But it was important.”
“And now?”
“Now I’m here, with you.”
An elderly couple embracing | Source: Pexels
She didn’t look at me right away. Instead, she reached for my hand and laced her fingers through mine. Her skin was warm and familiar in a way that felt like it had taken a long time to earn.
“I don’t need to be your first,” she said. “Not at our old age anyway. But I just want to be someone who makes the rest of the story worth telling.”
I looked at her then, really looked, and felt something settle in my chest. A kind of peace I hadn’t known I needed.
“Oh, Gracie. You already are.”
An elderly couple holding each other | Source: Pexels
What would you have done?
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