Mr. Olymic Stadium Engineer

Mr. Olympic Stadium Engineer was surprisingly much more attractive in person than in the photos of the profile. He had a full lock of graying but strong hair. He was fit, sweet and unusually shy for a forty five year old. He confessed to be tired of the desperation showed by previous dates and seemed pleased with our conversation. When he smiled, which occurred with phlegmatic sparsity, he brightened up the room. I found myself trying to make him do it more often...
By the end of that encounter I thought I wanted to see him again but I was convinced by his dispassionate attitude that it would not happen.
I was surprised when he texted a couple of days later saying how lovely it had been to meet me. I replied that the feeling was mutual and we arranged to have dinner the following Saturday.
We had dinner and a post-drink drink in a cosy pub and I ended the night with same exact feeling from the previous meeting. Even the idea that I would not see him again. He accepted my offer, which a woman should make because it is polite, to share the dinner bill, which a man should not accept, because paying the bill is a token of appreciation for the female company. Bad sign, then. He also did not make any visible sign to invade my personal space.
Once again I was surprised he called. We talked on the phone for about an hour every day since week two. By week four he finally found the courage to snog me. He was a good kisser (horah!) and we snogged for hours in endless walks by the beach.
By month three, in addition to Saturday, we started meeting up mid week as traveled to London for dinner. And four month in I finally stayed for the night and he called ‘my love’ before we had sex.
Conversations turned serious and imbued in plans and things to look forward in the future.
He met the children, he was great with them and they adored him. He also met my family and some of my friends. Everybody thought we were great together. I started to allow myself to feel secure and contented and slipped into a fairy tale like roll. 
I know I should know better. I know one should not articulate irrational post-coital. Hormone soaked indiscretions. But one night, with my system saturated with happy chemicals, I let it slip. The big one. And my unfortunate sigh was met by a thick, barren wall of silence.

TBC