Time had passed, and so had the years. At 30, Merritt had never really known true love. Men always noticed her marks before they noticed who she really was. So she had finally resigned herself — until that Sunday afternoon when she pushed open the door of the basement of a small church.
The one who looked at her beyond appearances
Behind the piano was Callahan, dark glasses on his nose, and Buddy, his guide dog, curled up at his feet. He patiently gave lessons to children who sang with much more enthusiasm than accuracy. Her disarming sweetness had made Merritt smile before she even understood why.
On their first date, she preferred to take the lead: * "I don't look like other women. He had grasped her hand with a smile and replied: "So much the better. The common never really interested me. She had laughed to tears. Maybe she should have noted this sign.
