"Wowzers!" came out involuntarily from his throat when he saw her. "You look… great!"

With a supreme effort of will she forced herself to keep her eyes on his, though she couldn't help feel her cheeks color somewhat. She had to see if he liked it; she was uncomfortable dressing up, even when it was for a performance, and she desperately needed confirmation that her choices were correct. It was not an easy task, her closet was woefully under-equipped for such occasions since loose and utilitarian clothes were her usual preference. Seeing he was sincere, she offered a quick, silent mental thanks to her friend who insisted so many times in dragging her to the much-hated shopping mall and forcing her to buy more feminine attire every so often.

Thank you, Kori. I owe you. This is worth at least five excursions to the mall. It's even worth an evening of babysitting Silkie for you.

She shuddered inwardly, remembering the yapping, drooling pest – sorry, pet – her friend doted so much over.

Let's not get too enthusiastic. Three trips to the mall and a pineapple-and-mint-frosting pizza with mustard should be enough.

She yanked her thoughts back to the present. "Thank you, Gar! That's very nice of you to say!"

"I speak the truth, all the truth and nothing but the truth, so help me God!" he grinned at her, lifting his hand in a mock gesture of assertion. "I'm serious. It's casual, but elegant. Suits you well."

"I don't think I'm very casual!" she complained ineffectually, not able to keep her eyes from looking down any more, the pink spots on her pale cheeks widening and deepening.

"No. You don't allow yourself to be casual. There's a difference." He realized his mouth ran ahead of his brain yet again and shifted uncomfortably on his feet, but she didn't seem to be offended.

He cleared his throat. "So, where would you like to go?"

She looked at him with slight surprise. "I thought you had some place on your mind?"

"I do!" he grinned at her. "Several of them! But I'm not sure what you'd prefer, and I'm certainly not dragging you somewhere you wouldn't like!"

A small smile spread over her face, lifting her lips more on one side than on the other, making it ever so slightly crooked. "Hmmm. OK, I'll buy that one!" she said and took him under his arm. "Let's just walk for a while."

She could swear that there was a flash of playfulness in his eyes, as if he accepted and returned her dare. "That sounds fine. Let's go."

He grabbed a small sports bag, slung it over his shoulder, closed the shop and they strolled away, her arm wrapped around his.

They walked silently for a while. His mind had no clue where he was taking her, but his legs apparently knew very well and moved surely and purposefully. He chuckled silently as they approached their destination. It was the same park, the same pond, the same bench he was sitting on yesterday. He guided her over and they sat down, enjoying the surroundings.

"Beautiful spot," she said quietly. "I wonder how is it that I missed it."

"Discovered it the other day!" he admitted, grinning. "Hungry?"

"A little," she said, her eyebrow going up as he dug into the bag and brought out a couple of sandwiches and two cans of soda. "I hope you like it. I made it myself."

She unwrapped the sandwich he offered and bit into it. "Mmmm. Chicken mayo? Not usually my favorite, but this one's great! You have a talent for making sandwiches, also!"

He grinned at her again and busied himself with his own tofu-avocado-tomato-lettuce creation. She took another bite, then suddenly frowned, swallowed what she was chewing and spoke.

"Gar, you made this? You're vegan! Why did you –"

He laughed. "Relax, it's not the first time! I make them for my fried Vic, also, and he doesn't consider a lunch complete unless there's at least a pound of meat involved!"

Her frown faded, but did not disappear completely. "It's good to know that, but still…"

He gave her a mischievous smile. "It's all part of my evil plan to take over the world. First I'll make all of you desperately addicted to my perfect sandwiches and then I'll slowly replace the meat and animal products, until you're left with no option but to eat vegan! Mwahahahaha!"

She laughed at his silly joke, enjoying the sunny enthusiasm he was radiating. He watched and listened to her, forgetting to chew on his own mouthful.

She's laughing at my joke! Dude, I'm… What a beautiful, happy, pure laugh! I wish I could make her laugh all the time!

He continued eating, now silent, basking in the warmth he felt inside. The day was beautiful, the company perfect. It made him giddy.

The fleet of swans and ducks approached them quickly, small ripples in their wake. They probably noticed that the couple was eating and were certain that this time their insistence will be rewarded. He chuckled and threw them a crust. Rachel smiled and followed suit. They watched the birds scramble to get at the morsels, occasionally throwing them more crumbs and crusts. Eventually they both finished their sandwiches and leaned back, relaxed and smiled.

Rachel broke the comfortable silence. "Tell me, Gar, how did you end up being a luthier? Where did Steve find you?"

His smile became brittle and he looked away, his eyes following the swans gliding over the smooth surface of the pond. His lips parted and his breath went in, but he didn't speak.

It was painfully obvious that for some reason the topic was not a pleasant one for him. She cursed herself for her inquisitiveness, but the damage was done. Her mind raced, trying to find an opening in the awkward wall that had just sprung up between them.

"It's a long story," he said quietly, his eyes still on the birds cleaning up the last remnants of the crumbs they threw into the water.

She tried to correct her mistake. "Gar, I'm sorry, I understand, if it's an uncomfortable topic you don't need to –"

He turned to her, ignoring her words. "My parents died when I was eight," he spoke firmly, pushing away his doubts and concerns. "Rafting accident. In Africa. Dad managed to save me, but… the only thing I could do was cling to that branch and watch them go over."

She tried to stop him, explain to him that he didn't have to go through it, tell him that everything was fine. But she was unable to do anything except force her breath through a constricted throat and shift her gaze anxiously from one of his eyes to the other and back.

"My uncle Nick was appointed to be my legal guardian," he continued, turning again to watch the pond. "What nobody then knew was that he was a compulsive gambler, and that he was already making inroads in the estate that my parents left. He couldn't care less for me, the guardianship was only a means for him to get unrestricted access to the money. He gambled it all away in just a few months."

He sighed and looked at his hands, somewhat surprised that they were not trembling or clenching into fists. Maybe he was coming to terms with it all. Maybe he would find peace finally.

"He frittered it away and soon he became desperate to find more so he could fuel yet another one of his infallible gambling schemes. He fell into the clutches of some loan sharks. When he was not able to pay them back…"

She shuddered. "They killed him?"

He looked at her, his usually bright, clear eyes now opaque and mirror-like, reflecting her gaze back without letting anything come out.

"Of course not," he said in a cool, matter-of-fact tone that gave no indication of any emotion under it. "They were going to get their money's worth out of him, if nothing then as a warning to others. They broke his arms and legs, painfully, carefully, clinically. They made sure he wouldn't be able to use them for the rest of his life."

She closed her eyes, incapable of enduring his expressionless gaze any longer. He went on with the story.

"He gave up, finally. After six months he gave up and simply faded away. The doctors told me there was nothing physically wrong with him, he just didn't want to go on living like that."

She felt anger stir deep inside her as she listened. "Good riddance!" she hissed, grinding her teeth. She felt his hand touch hers and the fury vanished like a light turned off.

"He was a sick man," he said softly. "He did bad things and he paid for them. Maybe too harshly. Maybe if I was able to help him…"

His words stabbed straight into her heart. She gasped soundlessly, her eyes now squeezed shut and her hands curled into fists, the nails digging into her palms painfully. It took all of her self-control not to scream. His feelings were way too familiar to her.

I'm sorry, father. Maybe if I understood you I could've helped you, and all that wouldn't have happened. Maybe it was my fault. Maybe I never was what you expected or wanted from me. Maybe I should've tried harder. Maybe…

His words wrenched her out of her painful self-recrimination. "That's when Steve found me. Or perhaps I should say I found him," he smiled, remembering. "It was summer and his air conditioning unit was broken. The door was wide open as I passed beside the shop. I heard the sound of woodworking and sensed the smell of freshly cut wood and glue and varnish… so I looked inside, to see him bent over the workbench. For some reason it captivated me; I stood there watching him for a long time, I have no idea how long, but it must have been hours. The next thing I knew he was closing the door, glancing at me with a frown and leaving."

"I came there again tomorrow. Nothing could keep me away. I continued watching him as he worked, utterly fascinated. He never acknowledged my presence. A bit after noon he closed the shop and left for lunch. I remained sitting on the sidewalk, not caring about how hungry I was, waiting for him to return. When he got back and saw me still waiting there, he opened the door, looked at me and jerked his head, letting me know I was to follow him inside. He placed me on a chair – the same chair you used – and he gave me a sandwich and a soda, then continued working. I ate what he gave me, my eyes never leaving him. We didn't speak a single word."

He was completely taken over by his storytelling, the words coming out in a slow, measured tide no less irresistible and unstoppable for being gentle and calm. She felt herself completely immersed, swept away by the quiet flood, enraptured by the tale and the sound of his voice and the deep emotions that flowed out from him as he spoke.

"By the end of the day he motioned me out of the shop, closed it and left. I went home and slept; I remember clearly that I slept long and peacefully, as if I had finally found what I was searching for. I was in front of his shop early tomorrow morning. He glanced at me, opened up and went inside. I followed and again sat and watched him work."

"It was quite some time before we spoke to each other. On the third day he gave me the violin scroll that he was working on and a piece of sandpaper and said one word: 'try'. That's how I became a luthier."

He straightened up and leaned against the hard back of the bench, gazing at the pond. He felt her nearness burn him, making him yearn to move closer, to touch her and feel that heat fill him and blaze inside him and consume him all until he was only a handful of bright, glowing cinders. He felt her shift slightly and looked at her.

She was biting her lip, trying to find something to say, knowing that words were the only thing that could dispel the magic that enveloped her and pulled her towards him. She longed to let go and release herself to the feelings he awoke in her, but she was too afraid and too confused and too lonely; she dared not venture forth and go out and look up at the sun, her own memories looming huge and intimidating in her mind, scaring her away to huddle back in her cool, comforting, familiar gloominess, terrified of the brightness and colors and merry sounds coming from outside, both attempting to lure her out and frightening her.

"Steve… was a great master," she said hoarsely, finally able to speak.

He nodded and looked ahead again.

"His wife and several of his close friends died in a freak accident. He never spoke of it, but I found out." A small, wan smile crossed his face. "He never learned how to deal with it. He buried his emotions and himself in his work. That's why his instruments have that sound. That's what makes them unique and priceless."

He moved slightly to accommodate himself better on the hard wooden surface. "I was looking for a father and he needed company. But he seldom spoke to me and he never made any affectionate gesture towards me. And yet as I sat beside him in the hospital, holding his hand while the cancer consumed him, I could feel his hand squeeze mine back, just before he..." his voice trailed off.

Her eyes stung. She couldn't stand it, seeing him now not confused and befuddled any more, but alone and vulnerable and opening to her and engulfing her in the feelings she knew only once before, the time when it ended in deception and pain. The memory called up a fear that froze her, stirred up the terror that it would happen again and that she would be torn apart and left broken in quivering pieces once more, picking up the remnants of her heart and her soul slowly and painfully and putting them back together through months of self-doubt, remorse and agony.

He shook himself out of his moodiness, letting the warm, sunny day and the calm surroundings soothe him. He turned to her and smiled, asking the question that came predictably to him, unaware of the poison and the pain it was loaded with.

"How about you? What made you start playing the violin?"

Subconsciously she was expecting him to ask, but still she froze, all the muscles in her body cramping suddenly, her mind aware only of its own soundless wail of denial and terror and shame. She squeezed her eyes shut, fighting the waves of nausea that made her stomach roll and her bile rise. She did the only thing she could do that would keep her from throwing up right there and then. She allowed the rage to take her as she felt it sear and burn away the self-imposed guilt, slowly settling her insides and leaving only the painful, smoldering stigmata in her soul and a throat full of angry words like a swarm of furious hornets that were only waiting for her mouth to open so they could fly out and bite and sting and envenom him.

Teeth clenched desperately, she gave herself a few seconds for all of it to subside. He watched her with concern, realizing his question was just as painful to her as hers was to him, maybe even more. His hand went to touch her, afraid of what he'd done, but she shrank from the contact and hunched her head between her shoulders.

"Rachel, I'm sorry, I didn't know…"

She rose from the bench and walked a few steps away, turning her back to him. He got up and followed her, uncertainty tearing him up, not able to decide what to do. She hugged herself to fend off the shivers that were building up in her body, the nails biting painfully into her skin, trying to hurt the trembling away. She forced a croaked response out.

"It's… not your fault. You couldn't have known."

She felt his hands on her shoulders. She wanted to shake him off, but his touch was warm, his fingers gentle, his presence calming and consoling. She felt the slight pressure of his hands, begging her to turn around. She tried to fight it, again attempting to tear herself from the deceptively sweet and addictive sensation of peace and safety he awoke in her. She heaved his hands away, but her body betrayed her yet again, using the movement to turn and fall into him, hugging him fiercely and burying her face in his chest.

"It's OK, it's all right, you don't have to tell me, it's fine, calm down, don't worry, I'm here, it's OK!" he droned on, curling his arms protectively around her, feeling her slowly unclench and loosen as she listened to his voice and relaxed, feeling his heavy heartbeat and filling her lungs with his scent. She felt dizzy, all the sudden and contradictory emotions that roared through her sapping all her strength. Her knees felt weak and her head spun.

She pushed him gently away and returned to the bench, lowering herself heavily down on it. He followed her, watching her carefully for a few seconds before sitting beside her again.

She took a deep breath, cleansing herself from everything. She lifted her gaze and met his eyes.

"I'm sorry, Gar. Yes, it's a… difficult subject for me."

"That's fine, no problems. I'm sorry I've –"

"No!" she cut him off forcefully. "This is not your fault. It's not even mine. It's…" her mind worked hard, trying to find the words. "You opened up for me, and I thank you for it. You have no idea how much it means to me. But I can't…" she shivered. "Not yet," she concluded quietly, then took hold of his hand and looked over the pond.

They sat silent for a while until Rachel felt fully recovered, but with the calmness came exhaustion. She glanced shyly at him.

"Gar?"

"Hmmm?" he replied, turning to look at her.

"Listen, please don't take this the wrong way, but can you walk me back to the shop? All this… I'm dead tired."

He frowned but quickly forced his face to clear. "Sure. No problem."

She sighed, seeing that he was hurt. "Gar, please. It's not that I had a great time – if I said I did, you'd know that I was lying. But it was a moment I'd share with no one else, and it doesn't mean I wouldn't like… going out again… I mean, if you…"

"I'd love to!" he said quickly, his face lighting up in a happy grin first, then becoming serious. "I guess we're both guilty as charged. Maybe we should stay away from our past and focus on the present."

Her hand squeezed his. "For now."

He smiled, nodded and got up, offering her his hand. "Let's go."

Again they walked silent until they reached the shop. Again, both were unwilling to say goodbye and part ways. In the end, Rachel couldn't resist the feeling of guilt any longer and she raised her eyes.

"Can I… I mean, tomorrow… for the violin?"

"I'd be very disappointed if you didn't," he answered, his voice low and raspy.

"I'll be there!" she said quickly and walked briskly away, forcing herself not to run. He watched her until she turned a corner and vanished, then opened the shop and walked inside with a heavy sigh.