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He always took me to really cool restaurants – and I don’t mean the kind of places boring people think are cool (well regarded, safe, overpriced) – but genuinely awesome hole-in-the-walls, interesting ethnic food, with amazing beer lists – places I later showed off to my chef friends and got major cool points.

Bob and I had similar tastes in music and talked about going to a show together. He didn’t seem to mind if I took a couple of days to text him back.

However, when he drove me home after date number 4, I knew I had to make a decision. After about an hour, he asked if I’d like a ride home, and I said yes without any trepidation. After a few minutes of making out in his car, he very tactfully asked, “Do you have to be at work early tomorrow? As it was, I simply told him to back off while I ushered Bob into my room. It did occur to me that he was the oldest person I’d been with.

He wasn’t expecting sex – I’d already laid in some major groundwork about having to get up early to go to LA – but if I just bolted the second he stopped the car the way I had previously, I was pretty sure he wouldn’t want to see me again. He did so, reluctantly, and Bob tried not to show his fear. He was only 7 years older than me, and I’d slept with a couple of dudes who were 9 years older, but that was many years before. In fact, all but one of them men I’d slept with since Martin had been younger than me.

Bob’s dad had been a county sheriff who was killed in the line of duty when Bob was only 16.