The first date had been a success. ‘We ought to do it again some time, said Shelley.

‘Dinner?’

‘That’d be lovely.’

‘Greek?’

‘My favourite.’

It all seemed too easy. Syd met her after work and they walked to a place they both knew. They shared the mixed platter and lingered over baklava and inky coffee. He hoped Goldy would like her as much as he did.

After another film he invited her back to his flat, around the corner. It was a homely place, well lived in. Shelley settled on the couch while Al boiled the kettle. Everything, seemed to be going nicely. No time like the present, then. He scooped up Goldy and started towards the lounge room. Before he reached the door he heard her scramble through her handbag then sneeze like a cannon blast. Shelley, sounding like her mouth was full of porridge, mumbled, ‘you should have told me you had a cat.’

(this is an edited version of the story published on this day, 2010. See about small stories about love)

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