"Appletini," Daryl said.

The fireplace crackled in the study where Carol sat with her back against the chair of the fancy, gray chaise lounge and her legs stretched out on the long stool portion of it. "Oooh. That sounds good. Maybe."

The sun had set. They'd had their dinner from the pantry – teriyaki flavored beef jerky, almonds, lime-flavored seltzer water, and dried tomatoes.

"Mai Thai?" Daryl asked as he turned a page in the cocktail book that lay open on the desk he stood before.

"What's that?"

He glanced at the glass shelves of the open liquor cabinet behind himself. "Never mind. No orange curaçao and no white rum." He turned another page. "Chocolate martini?"

"Oooh! Yes! That's what I want!"

"Let me see if we got the shit for it." He pulled down the jar of Godiva liquor from the top glass shelf of the cabinet. "This stuff's creamy. Might of gone bad." When he turned the cap, however, he realized it was sealed and never opened, which meant it should be fine. He gave it a sniff just to make sure and set it on the desk.

"Does that say Godiva?" she asked. "Like the expensive chocolate store?"

"Yep."

"No one's ever brought me Godiva before. Ed always brought me those cheap, stale grocery store chocolates for Valentine's day."

Daryl surveyed the bar again and brought down the Crème de Cacoa. He glanced back at the book. "Ain't got vanilla vodka. Gotta use regular. Ain't got half and half neither. Just use more Godiva, I guess. It's creamy enough."

"Are you going to make yourself one, too?"

"Hell no! I ain't drinkin' this girly shit. Gonna have me some of that top shelf scotch." He pointed to a bottle of brown liquid.

"Is that very expensive?"

"Dunno. Just know it's on the top shelf."

Carol chuckled.

He took a shot glass which he guessed was probably 1.5 ounces and eyeballed the measurements and poured the alcohol into a silver shaker. "Ain't got no ice, but this liquor's been sittin' at fall temps and the shaker oughtta make it colder. Think that's how it works anyhow."

"I wouldn't know the difference. I'm not a snobby customer."

Daryl screwed the lid of the shaker on and began to shake it.

"Nice arms, bartender," she told him. "Work that shaker and I might tip extra well."

"Stahp." But he shook the shaker a little harder, maybe even tried to flex his muscles a bit while he did. She really was looking at his arms. Maybe it was a good thing he ran hot. It couldn't be more than forty-five outside, but in this closed-up house, by the fire, he'd felt overwarm and stripped down to his muscle undershirt.

"Or maybe you should give me the tip," she teased.

He flushed. Was that a green light for sex tonight? He wished he knew. "Just the tip?" he asked as he set the shaker down.

"Or more. Maybe."

That maybe wasn't very damn helpful. He took down a martini glass, wet a cloth napkin with bottled water, and wiped off the accumulated dust before opening the shaker and pouring the contents in the glass. He brought her the glass and then went back to pour himself two fingers of the scotch.

She took a tiny sip and said, "Oh, that's good! It's like a really good chocolate milk or something." She took another sip.

Daryl took one sip of the scotch and then spewed it out of his mouth – straight into the fire. The fire wooshed and flared up for a second and then simmered down again. "Ugh!" He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Taste like lickin' moss straight off the ground!"

"I guess you don't have expensive tastes. Lucky for me, right?"

"Pfft. You kiddin'? You're as expensive as they come. High maintenance, Miss Murphy. Got to make you martinis and bring you flowers."

"I didn't say you had to bring me flowers." She took a sip. "But as good as this is, I probably wouldn't mind it if you made me an appletini, too."

He grabbed another empty whiskey glass. He would just drink the Jack Daniels. He knew that would be all right. He poured himself a little and came over to the chaise lounge. He lifted her feet up, sat down, and put them in his lap. "Hell kind of couch is this? Back don't go back but halfway across it." As if to demonstrate, he leaned back into air and then sat forward again.

"It's a chaise lounge. It's not meant for two."

"It's a dumbass half couch is what it is." He shot back a good bit of the Jack Daniels. "Like that girly drink, huh?"

"I love it."

Daryl did end up making her the appletini, which she declared "almost as good" as the chocolate martini. She was humming and swaying just a little when she took the battery-operated lantern to the bathroom. They'd get one flush out of each of the four toilets in this house, Daryl figured.

He took his flashlight and went to another bathroom. He brushed his teeth with the tooth paste there, a toothbrush he'd taken from an unopened package under the sink, and bottled water. He had smoked a cigarette while gathering wood, and she'd probably prefer he brush up before they started kissing on each other in bed. His dick twitched slightly at the thought of it. Easy, boy, he thought. How long are you gonna last if you get this happy just thinking 'bout it?

Daryl made sure the house was good and locked up before he headed to the master bedroom. When he got there, Carol had the fire lit and her gear and belt and shoes and socks off. He unclipped all his gear – knives, guns, and extra magazines - and lay it on top of the long dresser, unbuckled his belt, snapped it out of the loops, and lay it on the dresser, too. Then he kicked off his boots, peeled off his socks, and stuffed them inside. If she was that much naked, he supposed he could be, too.

He walked over to her where she stood with one hand on the mantle, gazing into the gently lapping fire. "It's so pretty," she said, and he wanted to say So are your eyes, because those soft blues were illuminated by the flames, but he was afraid that might sound like a bad line. So, he just listened as she continued, "This house. The view." She glanced out the window where the stars reflected off the lake in the darkness. "The fire." She slid her hand off the mantle and wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him.

It was a deep kiss, long and teasing, and he swirled his tongue around hers. She still tasted faintly of chocolate and apple, but it was now mixed with mint. He was frustrated when she pulled away and stepped back from him, until he realized she'd done so in order to begin unbuttoning her shirt. She slipped the buttons loose one by one, slowly, as if she was giving him a strip tease. It was just about the sexiest damn thing he'd ever seen. "You want to give me that massage?" she asked. "There's oil on the nightstand."

"Yeah," he managed as she let her shirt drop to the floor to reveal a lacy, red bra. The shadows of the flames flickered down her cleavage, like a tongue of fire dipping itself into her bra for a taste.

He watched as she unclasped the bra, freed her breasts, and tossed the undergarment on the floor.

He let out a low, giddy laugh that he feared made him sound like some kind of ridiculous schoolboy, but it only made her smile.

She popped the button on her jeans, pulled down the zipper with a slow rasp, and stepped out of them. She had on lacy red panties that matched the bra she'd discarded. Merle told him once that if you got a woman home and she had on matching, lacy underwear, "that means she's been waiting to fuck you all day long, little brother." Daryl had thought Merle was full of shit, but maybe Merle was right. Maybe this really was going to happen tonight.

Carol sauntered toward him, wrapped her arms around his neck, and kissed him. His dick was now at full attention and strained almost painfully against the zipper of his pants. As she kissed him, she slid one hand from the back of his neck, down over his white muscle shirt, along his spine, and then slipped it into the back pocket of his pants.

He froze.

Shit.

That's where he'd put the condoms. She'd think he was expecting it. He was hoping, sure, but not expecting. He just wanted to be prepared. Just in case. But now she'd think he was expecting it, and if she didn't want it, she might be upset. He could feel the condoms shifting in his pocket beneath her hand.

Shit.

She fished out a single foil packet and stepped away from him.

Shit.

She held the packet up to him, and the silver foil glinted in the light from the fireplace.

Shit.

"I'm just going to put this on the nightstand," she said. "By the bed. So you can reach it easily when we need it later."

Holy shit!

He laughed. That dumbass giddy laugh. He didn't even know where it came from.

She placed the condom on the nightstand and folded down the bedspread. Then she sat on the bed. "Maybe you should strip down, too, so those pants aren't scraping against me when you give me my massage."

He jerked his shirt over his head, threw it aside, and hastily undid his pants. She'd seen him naked in that tub. He wasn't shy this time, and he dropped them as quick as he could. He was going commando, as usual, so he couldn't hide a damn thing when he stepped out of them.

"Not much of a strip tease," she said with a teasing pout. Her eyes flitted to his cock, which was fully saluting her. "Massage first. Take your time." She rolled onto her stomach, stretched out on the bed, and lay her head on the pillow with her arms above her head.

Nervous and exited, Daryl seized the bottle of massage oil. He looked her over and tried to determine the logistics of it all. In the end, he decided to kneel on the bed over her, one knee down either side of her hips, but his weight off her. He squeezed a little oil into his hands, rubbed them together to heat it – he'd seen that in a movie once – and began with her shoulders.

It all went so perfectly at first.

Her pleased murmurs made him want her even more as he willed his cock to be patient and continued to rub and stroke her neck and arms and shoulder and upper back. She lifted herself on her elbows slightly to allow him reach underneath and gently cup and massage her breasts. When she did that, her back rubbed against his erection, which did not help. He couldn't resist the urge to tweak a nipple. She moaned when he did, low and sexy and he didn't know how much longer he could stand this.

He slid his hands out from under her and she settled down all the way on the mattress again. He feathered his fingers across her lower back, and then hooked one into her panties. "Want me to take these off? To rub."

"Yes."

He smiled and climbed off her, stood by the bedside, and dragged her panties down her legs and off her ankles. He began by massaging her ankles and working his way up her legs to her firm ass. He relished her hums and enjoyed the bare sight of her as he kneaded and stroked. After a bit more massaging, he came around the other side of the bed and climbed in next to her. She continue to lay, half-humming, on her stomach.

Lying on his side beside her, he kissed her shoulder, slid a hand down her back and over the perfect round of her ass, and then slightly parted her legs so he could gently rub the inside of her thighs. She lifted herself off the mattress ever so slightly, which he took as an invitation to slide a finger gently over her clit.

"Fuck you're wet," he growled.

He hadn't been anticipating how much the massage must have excited her. It occurred to him that if he made her cum like this first, it might not matter to her as much if he got off too quickly inside her, and maybe if she was on the edge and tingling, he could even make her cum again with just a few strokes. He began to work his fingers in ways he already knew she loved. Carol whimpered into the pillow.

When the first hint of an orgasm was ripping through her, he immediately stopped touching her, reached over her to seize the condom packet, and ripped it open.

As he was rolling the condom onto his erection, she murmured, "Not from behind," and rolled over to face him.

He bent down over her, his eyes more on fire than the fire in the hearth, and braced himself with the palm of one hand. She caught his eyes, and he didn't look away. "Goddamn you're beautiful," he told her, and when she let her legs fall open, he began to push into her.

That was when things ceased to go perfectly.

That, in fact, was when things went all to shit.

He met with an unexpected resistance, and her body seemed to eject him. "Sorry," he muttered, surprised. "Thought you wanted – "

"- I want," she insisted. "I do want, I want you, Daryl."

She put her palms flat on his back as though trying to pull him into her. He started to push his cock inside her again but met with the same resistance and so eased back out.

"Just push through." she pleaded.

"What?"

"Just push yourself through," she said almost frantically. "I'll be fine. Just do it."

"What? No."

And then she burst out crying. She had gone from whimpering moans to sobs in sixty seconds and he had no fucking idea what he'd done wrong.

His erection immediately shriveled. He rolled off of her and ignored his confusion to gather her in his arms and murmur "Shhhh…" against her ear.

"I don't know what's wrong with me!" she cried.

With her? So he hadn't done something wrong? "Ain't nothin' wrong with you!"

"There is," she sobbed. "I'm sorry."

"Ain't no reason to be sorry," he said, his voice thick with emotion, his mind tumbling with confusion and his heart cinching up with an overwhelming, aching affection for her. "Shhh…Just shhhh…don't cry. Please." But she did cry, her sobs ripping into him like a lash. He didn't know what to do, had no idea to stop them, and out of desperation asked, "If I tell you my middle name, will you stop cryin'?"

She choked. "What?" she asked.

"Promise you'll stop cryin' if I tell."

Maybe it was the shock of the question, but her sobs petered to sniffles. "Okay," she murmured through her sniffles.

"Baby Boy."

Carol choke-laughed. "Baby Boy?" she repeated.

"Yeah. Was a place holder. My mama didn't know what she wanted it to be, so she just had 'em put Baby Boy down on the birth certificate. Never got around to changin' it. Just became my middle name. On my driver's license and everything."

She sniffled again. "Baby Boy?"

"Don't tell no one. Promise?"

"I have to tell Sophia."

"Tell her not to tell no one."

Carol nodded. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

"Don't be."

She breathed in through her nose and then let it all out in a tumble of words: "It was never good with Ed after Sophia was born. It was always uncomfortable. Not painful exactly, but really uncomfortable. And he never cared if I was ready for it. I know you care. I know that, and I thought I was ready. My body was obviously ready. But I think some part of my screwed-up mind just anticipates it's going to be uncomfortable even though it shouldn't be, and then that part of my mind tells that part of my body to just tense up. I'm sorry."

"Don't say that," he muttered.

"I'm sorry," she said again anyway. "I wanted tonight to be special. I really did. I knew what you wanted to do tonight, and I wanted to give you-"

"- Shhh." Daryl kissed her forehead, put a finger under her chin, and then tilted it up, which forced her to look into his eyes. Hers were glistening blue pools in the dancing light of the fire. "Ain't got to be tonight. Ain't got to be tomorrow. Ain't got to be the next day either. It'll happen when it happens."

"But you've been so patient already."

"It'll happen when it happens," he repeated. "Didn't mean to put all this pressure on you for this one damn night. I'm sorry."

"It wasn't pressure. It was…you were just trying to make it special. And I wanted that, too. And I know you can't wait forever. I know that."

"I ain't goin' nowhere. You know that?" He cupped her cheek with his hand. "I love you, Carol. You know that? I love you, and I ain't goin' nowhere."

"I love you, too," she choked, and then she started crying again, but he was pretty sure these were a completely different kind of tears this time, so he didn't shush them. He did kiss them, though, one by one, as they slid down her cheeks.

When her tears had stopped, he rolled on his back and she settled into place the way she so often did when they cuddled in his room at the House of the Future, her head on his shoulder, her fingers at his hip. He let his arms settle familiarly around her.

"Do you want me to do something for you?" she asked. "I got something before…I had a turn. But you didn't get a turn. I can at least – "

"- Nah. Not tonight. 'S a'ight."

"But I want – "

"- Ain't gonna happen tonight," he told her frankly.

She sighed. "I killed the mood."

"I probably drank too much."

"You had two ounces of whiskey. I know that isn't it."

He squeezed her against himself. "Don't worry. Can take care of me in the mornin'. Guarantee you I'll wake up with a ragin' hard on. Always do."

"Really?"

"Yep. Mornin' wood. 'Cause I dream 'bout you."

"Yeah right," she said. "I think you dream about a jacuzzi full of supermodels."

"Well, yeah, but you're in it with 'em. And they're all washin' you."

She chuckled, and that chuckle was music to his ears after the sound of her sobs. He reached down to pull the comforter up over them to her shoulders. She settled in again and began lazily tracing the sinews of the muscles on one of his arms with a fingertip. They lay in silence, quietly cuddling, and soon she was jerking slightly in that falling-asleep-dance.

"Nite, Miss Murphy," he whispered, and felt her fade into slumber.

She didn't ease out from under his arms. She didn't get out of bed to pull on any clothes. She didn't slip from the room. She just dozed off there, naked in his embrace, and stayed asleep wrapped up in it.