Christopher's fingers hesitated over the keyboard, his third draft of an email to Allison sitting unfinished on the screen. His laptop opened on the kitchen table, the only light in the room. The cursor blinked like a silent accusation, too formal, too eager, too something that didn’t feel right. He rubbed his temples and exhaled sharply, shoving the laptop away. Dating in your late forties was like trying to read a map i...