Old flame in My creative writing

This is a short story I've written for a competition ...

I’d just finished mopping the kitchen floor when the doorbell rang. With a sigh I put down the mop, walked into the hallway and opened the door. I gasped. "Oh my God ..." For there, larger than life and grinning from ear to ear, was Joe Parsons. The One That Got Away. The Love of My Life.

"Hello, Alice,” he said. "Long time no see."

"You can say that again!" I spluttered. "What are you doing here? How did you know ...?"

"How to find you? I have my ways." He laughed. "Not that hard really. I heard you were a writer. Looked you up online. Any chance of a coffee?"

Wordlessly, I watched Joe walk past me into the kitchen. I hadn't seen him for twenty years, and time had been kind to him. Broader, balder, but still the same clear blue eyes and cheeky grin. I felt my heart lurch in my chest. No, no ..... I was over him. I had to be.

I followed him and switched on the kettle. "So what are you doing in these parts? Last I heard you were in France."

"Came back a couple of years ago," Joe said. "You haven't changed a bit.” I went to reply, but he stepped closer and put a finger on my lips. "Don't say a word.” Tenderly he stroked one long finger along my jawline. “You’re even more beautiful than I remember.”

I could feel my heart thudding in my chest as he studied me intently. “Sugar?” I asked, my voice wobbling.

“No, I’m sweet enough,” Joe laughed. He glanced at my ring finger. “Not married? I’m surprised.” Then, without warning, he pulled me close. “I never stopped loving you, Alice,” he breathed into my ear. “If only things had been different ... But it’s not too late, is it?”

My mind raced back to those three incredible months when we dated. We’d met in our local pub – two lost souls, both desperate for some love and affection. I remembered the long evenings we spent chatting about nothing and everything. I remembered the day we spent on a boat on the Thames, overcome with love, almost capsizing the boat with our passion. I remembered the way my heart sang whenever Joe looked at me. I remembered how he used to cover me with soft kisses, tracing his lips from my mouth to my breasts to my womanhood. I’d had a few lovers but never one as attentive, as gentle, as seductive as him. He was my one great love, the one I’d spent most of my life dreaming of. But he’d also hurt me, and I wasn’t sure I could bear him breaking my heart again.

As the kettle started to boil I gazed at Joe. He was still gorgeous; perhaps we could make it work. And then I glanced at my engagement ring on the windowsill, and remembered the man who’d be coming home to me tonight.

“I’m sorry, Joe,” I said with a smile.