A Warming Trend

Amelia sat in the corner of the Senior Center’s main hall and tried not to feel completely ridiculous. She was 78 years old, had been widowed for nearly five years and had not gone out to any sort of social function as a single woman since Herbert had passed. She was, quite simply, far too old and set in her ways to be gallivanting about like some giddy schoolgirl at her first cotillion. 

She heard his voice before she saw him and her heart fluttered in her chest, “May I have this dance, madame?” Looking up into the kindest, deepest blue eyes she’d ever seen before, Amelia felt her cheeks redden and realized, perhaps, there might still be a dance or two left in her old bones. 


This story was written for the weekly Five Sentence Fiction prompt: Blush.