The Widow of Rose House

by Diana Biller

Ah, the beginning of the meal. Sam remembered it fondly, like the memory of a long-distant summer holiday.

This was not how you wooed women. You waited for them patiently, and eventually they would probably come to you.

“Reasoned arguments occur to me very quickly,” Alva protested. “Although perhaps, were I a man, my intellectual capacity would be somewhat reduced.”

Sam sighed. “She’s wonderful, isn’t she?” “You’re doing it again.” “Doing what again?” “Looking like a moonstruck idiot. It’s putting me off my food.”

“Sorry. Your mother wants me to come to dinner?” Alva frowned up at him. “Sam, what have you told her?” “Oh, only that I enjoyed our lovemaking like I’ve enjoyed no other and I hope to wear you down so you’ll let me enjoy it again—Ouch! Ouch! Ouch! You know, for a fairly average-sized woman your fists have a surprising amount of strength behind them.”