“Why do we always wait until the last minute to do these things, Fred?”

Fred and Sampson stood in the dressing room having their measurements taken for their tailored suits while Christopher waited outside.

“Because it’s just what we do, ain’t any need in stopping now,” Sampson responded.

“I hear ya.” The senior men grumbled back and forth.

Outside, Christopher Lee Rose looked over an Armani suit that was royal blue with a sharpness that made him appreciate the brand. Waiting on his friends Fred and Sampson was something Christopher had become accustomed to, so he moved from one item to the next with his thoughts traveling to his late wife. Years had passed since Janet’s death, and in just a short few days, they would be celebrating her through a foundation named by their sons, Jan’s Roses. The fundraiser was near to all of their hearts, which is why Christopher struggled with the news he wanted to deliver to his sons.

He was ready for another wife. One he could spend the rest of his days with, without regrets. And although Christopher believed his boys were old enough to understand, he was still unsure of how they would respond inwardly to the news. For over twenty years, it had just been him, his boys, and his girls. But Christopher longed to be with someone, and the time had come to reveal that. Christopher strolled around the store in deep thought.

Christmas seemed like as good a time as any, so he made up his mind right then to break the news to his family on that day. The phone in his pocket rang, and reaching inside his pants, Christopher removed it and answered.

“Good afternoon,” he said with deep baritone vocals.

“Hello Mr. Rose, how are you?”

“The day has found me well. Whom do I have the pleasure of speaking with?”

“Martha,” she cooed, “Martha Jean.”

“Ms. Martha Jean,” Christopher crooned, “to what do I owe the pleasure of this phone call?”

Martha Jean giggled like a teenager, and Christopher smiled with a playful grin.

“I was wondering if you didn’t have plans tonight, if you would like to get together? Maybe go out for a movie.”

“A movie?”

“Yes,” Martha Jean half sang.

“Why, Ms. Martha Jean, I’m flattered,” he said, “but unfortunately, I’m out with Fred and Sampson. They will be here for the next few weeks, and if I don’t keep an eye on them, there’s no telling what could happen.” He chuckled. “However, you will attend the fundraiser, correct?”

“Yes, I’ll be there.”

“We’re having a private dinner afterward at our home, so that means I’ll see you there as well?”

“Of course,” Martha Jean said. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“Good,” Christopher cruised.

“I’d like to send you something if you don’t mind, Mr. Rose.”

Christopher arched a brow. “What would that be?”

“Just a little something.”

Just then Christopher’s phone vibrated, and he pulled it away from his ear to look at the screen. A notification from Martha Jean’s phone number lingered in the window, and he double-tapped the display to open the message.

A picture of Martha Jean poised in a blue dress that shimmied with a sparkle in the lens of the camera flashed across his screen. Her silver hair sat on her shoulders, and her face had been beaten with a goddess like fashion. Christopher’s brows arched as his eyes settled on her transformation. She was far from the hyperactive spunky woman he was used to seeing in blue jeans, a plain shirt, and some sneakers. Even the change in her hair was different from the solid black she’d once worn.

Christopher thought back to a brief conversation he’d had with Martha Jean. One where he’d found out she dyed her hair with a dark rinse to keep the gray away.

Christopher had slipped a finger through her hair for a touch and told her, “There’s no reason for you to be ashamed of your wisdom, milady. That gray would bring out the soft hue in your brown eyes. It would be a beautiful thing and such a shame to hide.”

A smile sprinkled across his lips.

“I can be good company,” he heard her say into the phone just as he replaced it on his ear. “So, when you’re done babysitting Fred and Sampson, give me a call.” And with that Martha Jean hung up the phone.