I think it’s fair to say I could never be accused of being a quitter. In life generally, or indeed in the dating game. Given how appallingly I have been treated over the last five years by all kinds of assorted men in my quest for love, I think anyone with any compassion would think me justified should I have given up altogether. But I kept hanging on. Determined there had to be decent guys out there somewhere, or more specifically, one decent guy who was destined to be my decent guy.

I think I’ve met my decent guy and I can hardly contain myself.

Recent dating encounters have had me sceptical. Always saying I’d believe it when I saw it. After all words are cheap. Actions genuinely do speak louder. I’d go into it with an ‘impress me’ attitude, keeping my heart very guarded. I’d been devastated too many times.

Two and a half weeks ago I matched with a gentleman on Facebook Dating. Simultaneously I’d connected with a guy on PoF who had arranged to visit the weekend coming. We had a pleasant weekend, but he lived too far away, and he just wasn’t really for me. So I continued talking with my man on Facebook and within a couple of days more we’d met over a cuppa and cake.

Wow! It was impossible to think we’d only known each other for such a short space of time. We both felt as if the other had been in our lives forever. We clicked. Conversation flowed. I felt at ease when he held my hand and when he hugged me goodbye.

Another cake date followed. Lots of messages and calls. A brunch date. A sleepover at his. So much conversation. So much honesty. And something that blew us away; an incredible depth of feeling, mutual feelings. And use of the L-bomb.

I do realise it’s probably way too soon by the standards of others. But it’s working for us. We’re really aware it is very early days but we’re not lovestruck teenagers. We’re mostly pretty grounded 50-somethings, who have been through so much in our lives that we know the importance of grabbing happiness with both hands.

Yesterday as I was catching up with some jobs at home, a delivery of flowers arrived for me. I was in tears as the delivery driver handed them to me. I have not been sent flowers by a man since before my husband died. And that’s thirteen years now. They were exquisite, pink and purple shades and I just gazed at them for a time, rereading the tiny card that accompanied them. I felt so genuinely happy. And loved.

I hate the fact that in the face of what appears to be real love and concern, I’m afraid to fully relax and just enjoy it. I feel sad that such a good man, who doesn’t deserve to be doubted, is reaping the aftermath of the others who came before him. The ones who broke my heart and messed with my head. My insecurities cause me to feel inadequate in the face of his affection.

I am however confident, that given time I will trust him fully. And we will have innumerable happy times together. But at the moment, it’s all just wow!