"Miss Daaé?"

Christine stopped in her tracks, shocked that the hostess already knew her name.

"Yes," she confirmed, smiling as best she could while she tugged at the strap of her purse for some ounce of comfort. He must've shown her a picture of you or something.

The hostess smiled. "Let me show you to your table."

Christine kept her eyes trained on the back of her hostess's head, listening to the light conversation and clinking of forks and wine glasses around her.

I shouldn't be here, she kept telling herself. I don't belong here.

Christine spent much of her afternoon practicing her smile and laugh. She didn't want to be too obnoxious, just cute enough to win him over. She spent an entire hour after her massage working on her makeup and hair, perfecting every little detail down to a speck of glitter. Her gown at least gave her some confidence on its own, making her feel like a princess with its baby pink color and floral embroidery. Still, amongst this crowd, she felt like she stood out like a sore thumb. She thought she could feel every single one of their eyes burning into the back of her neck, whispering amongst one another about how she was not one of them.

She realized she was being led towards the back to an area separated from the rest of the restaurant where she could look out at the sunset and surrounding city. When the hostess moved to the side, Christine could see that there were very few tables in this section of the restaurant. Every table that was available had already been filled by couples all except for one where a man sat, his back facing her.

The hostess approached, and Christine followed, her nerves heightening.

"Mr. Young."

Erik turned to the hostess, and then looked over his shoulder to Christine. The man she'd pictured wearing a shiny black latex mask disappeared from her mind, replaced by the man rising from his chair before her.

He was far from what she imagined, unlike any man she'd ever seen before, and yet somehow, Christine found herself bound by him. His mask was the same in the way she had pictured its eyes and mouth being cut out, but the color and matte texture matched his skin tone. It was even cut at the top for his hair, almost making it appear as if he was wearing a face on his face except only his eyes and mouth gave hint to his expression. His smile was calming enough in itself, and slowly she felt the false smile she had put on melt into something genuine.

His height was just an added bonus. No more having to climb on the countertops, she thought. But I might have to jump when I want to kiss him. And he was so thin. It was a wonder how he'd been able to find a suit that fit him so well, but Christine knew he had enough to afford himself a tailor. Especially with how nice it looked: crisp black with a red tie and pocket square.

All it took was his voice to make her realize she had stopped breathing, too entranced by his appearance to even care to remember she had to breathe.

"Christine."

His voice sounded just as it had over the phone; warm and velvety, it almost melted her to the core. She wanted to wrap herself in its sound, forget everything and just live in his voice.

Christine blinked away her trance. "Erik."

The hostess smiled at them both awkwardly, although neither of them noticed, and started back towards the door. "Your waiter will be with you shortly."

Erik turned and gestured to Christine's seat on the opposite side of the table and moved to pull it for her. She followed, thanking him as he reclaimed his chair.

"Sorry I'm a little late," she apologized, hanging her purse behind her. "Traffic was horrendous."

He laughed the same dark chuckle she'd heard over the phone. She had to resist the urge to shiver.

She was only partially lying. Not only had city traffic brought her close to tears that she almost gave up and drove back home but Meg also insisted she call her before she walked in, giving her a little "pep talk" that extended far beyond what Christine had anticipated.

"It's fine," he assured, earning a smile from her.

She looked down at the menu before her, realizing immediately how limited it was. Each item's name was lengthy and the descriptions were beyond her own comprehension. It might as well have been written in another language.

"What do you usually like to get here?"

Erik chuckled again, and she realized with a blush that he'd been watching her stare in confusion at the sheet of paper.

All her life she'd been used to familiarity. She ate at the same five places for the last couple of years, preferred choosing from the same three recipes if she decided to eat at home, and now that she'd broken outside of that, she didn't know what to do. Maybe she wasn't fit for this lifestyle, maybe she wasn't fit for what was to come.

"Would you like me to order for you?"

She nodded. "That would be nice."

He smiled and gathered her menu with his own, setting it off to the side in a neat pile.

"It's been some time since I've eaten here. The menu only changes seasonally."

Christine poured herself a glass of water from the bottle that had been sitting in the center of the table. "Where do you usually prefer to eat?"

He sighed deeply, folding his hands in his lap. "Nothing ever seems to beat a home-cooked meal."

Christine hummed with intrigue. "Do you have a personal chef or something?"

Erik smiled briefly, releasing a breathy laugh. "If you could consider oneself a 'personal chef.'"

Christine found her laugh becoming less and less fabricated with conversation. Maybe the practice was at least helping her avoid snorting, but it seemed like she didn't need it as much as she thought. She was actually clicking with him. "You should cook for me sometime, then."

"Already suggesting what we should do for our next date?" His eyes widened and his mask shifted slightly, his brows rising underneath.

Christine shrugged. "Whatever you'd like to do."

Erik sighed and dropped his eyes to his glass of water. Christine could see by the glint in his eyes that something was bothering him. She was about to ask but the waiter beat her, asking them if they were interested in the specialty wine.

Conversation was light for the most part and dinner reminded her of an abstract painting she'd seen once in an art museum, leaving her stomach desiring more. Christine told him about her day, leaving out the little details of her stumbling in heels she hadn't worn for some time as well as the practice she had done in the bathroom.

"I'm glad you've been enjoying the massages. You work too hard not to get pampered."

Christine smiled bashfully. "My father always said we take for granted the times when we get to relax, but hard work is the only thing that will truly make us appreciate it."

Erik set his wine glass down. "Your dad sounds like a wise man."

Christine sighed and nodded. "He was."

The sun began setting at their shoulders and Christine couldn't help but stare at the way the sky had burnt orange. She couldn't remember the last time she had actually looked at the sunset.

"Would you like a better view?"

She nearly forgot where she was, blinking in surprise when he spoke again. He must've thought she was easily distracted, but she was too intrigued by his proposal to even care to feel embarrassed.

"We can go higher?"

He pulled several bills from his wallet and slapped them on the table, standing from his seat. Christine looked to him with bewilderment as he held out his hand. She grabbed her purse with one hand before accepting his invitation with the other.

He walked swiftly through the restaurant as she struggled behind, using his hand as an anchor in trying to keep up with him. The sun was almost gone by the time they made it up to the top floor, the last sliver of its orb just starting to disappear from view.

From the deck, Christine could see the entire west side of the city. Erik chuckled at her awed expression, letting go of her hand for the first time since they'd left the restaurant. She shuddered as a gust of cool fall air assaulted her, and brought her arms across her chest in an attempt to conserve some of her body heat. He shucked off his jacket almost immediately and placed it over her shoulders.

She frowned. "Now you're going to get cold."

He shook his head, laughing slightly. "So long as you're warm, so am I."

Christine squinted in disbelief at his statement and leaned forward to wrap her arms around his waist, pressing her cheek into his chest and praying that the five layers of foundation and blush and highlighter didn't dirty his shirt or tie. He was almost hesitant in wrapping his arms around her, but she didn't pay much mind to anything other than his warmth underneath.

"I have work in the morning." She barely heard the words slip from her mouth over the sound of the wind whipping around them and she wasn't quite sure why she had said them either. Perhaps it was because she needed to remind herself that she couldn't stand there forever. Perhaps it was because there was something about him that made her feel like she was safe and home and she just didn't want to leave. But she had to.

He sighed, and she dug her face further into his chest. "As do I."

Despite wanting him to, she still protested when he offered to walk her back to the parking deck. He ignored her, insisting it wasn't safe. And she knew.

The main reason she didn't want him walking her back was her vehicle. All night long she tried avoiding the topic of money. She thought it was hilarious that she wouldn't have ever met this man had she not been struggling financially, but for some reason, she didn't want their relationship to be about money. She wanted something more—something she couldn't articulate.

She was surprised to see him smile at the sight of her father's rusty old Chevy pickup.

He leaned over the bed of the truck as if calculating what he could fit inside of it. "What year is this?"

"1970."

"And it still runs well?"

"My father always took care of his stuff." For the most part, she thought to add due to the lack of a paint job. Erik didn't seem to mind it. More he was fascinated that something so old was still capable of performing its job.

"You know, I'm working on restoring an old Victorian piano."

She hopped into the driver's seat and traded her heels out for a pair of old sneakers she had tossed in the passenger seat, ignoring the urge to rub the heels of her feet. "Really?" She was surprised he was actually talking about himself without all her poking.

"I picked it off of an older gentleman who was thinking about throwing it away." He pivoted to her and squinted inquisitively. "Have you ever looked at something that's been neglected and thought worthless by others and had to question if something was wrong with yourself because something inside of you saw its true beauty?"

She pursed her lips in thought, trying to remember the last time she ever wanted to restore a Victorian piano.

"It's just odd," he continued, turning back to glance over her truck again, "it's like you see what it can be and something so powerful pulls you toward it, you're practically helpless."

Christine smiled. "You should show me it when it's done."

Erik turned and smiled at her. She watched, feeling her heart squelch as he lifted the knuckle of her hand to his lips. It wasn't until then that she noticed the bloated, pink edge of his lip which had just barely been hidden by the mask. "Thank you for spending the evening with me."

It took her a moment to realize he had said anything, and she responded in a stumble of words. "I...I enjoyed it."

She blushed at her fault, expecting him to feel discouraged by her awkward nature. Instead, he smiled.

"I hope we can do this again sometime soon."

She thought to ask him if he wanted to come home with her; if he wanted to help her brush and braid her hair; if he would like to curl up on the couch with her before flipping the TV over to some show she usually enjoyed watching before bed. But he has work in the morning and so do you, she reminded herself.

"I'd love to."

She watched as he slipped his hand from hers, gently pushing her legs so that they were inside the vehicle. "Drive safe, Christine."

He shut the door for her and walked off. Christine gave herself a moment to let the regret sink in. She had been talking to this man for almost three months now and she could hardly bring herself to say anything she was feeling. At the least, she wanted to thank him, yet somehow she was struggling to.

She reached to slip her key into the ignition, freezing as she realized she still had his coat pulled over her shoulders. She frantically started her vehicle and pulled off, hoping to find Erik walking toward the entrance of the parking deck. But he was nowhere to be seen.

Christine had been staring at her phone for the past five minutes, their conversation on her screen. Maybe it wasn't appropriate to call him now. It had only been two hours since their date ended, after all. Maybe she should wait until morning.

Screw it. Christine clicked on his name and then the "call" button.

She frowned when she got his voicemail, an automated message greeting her instead of his voice. For a moment, she debated hanging up and trying again, but she changed her mind at the sudden sound of the tone.

"Hey, uh..." Christine winced, realizing she hadn't planned what to say, "this is Christine. I wanted to call and tell you I had a really good time tonight. Sorry I didn't really say that earlier, I was kind of nervous."

She bit her lip, unsure of herself. No shit, Sherlock!

"I just wanted to see what day this week would be best for you to schedule another date. I thought it might be easier over a call since I've got a tight schedule and you always seem to be so busy as well."

She sighed into the phone. "I'm free Tuesday night, if that works. It doesn't even have to be dinner, we could see a late movie or you could come over to my place and we could play a game or watch TV or something."

Oh, God, she thought. I sound ridiculous.

She shrugged. "I don't really know, whatever works for you. Give me a call back. Alright, bye."

Christine fixed herself some tea for the night, shaking off the clumsiness of her voice message as she snuggled with her couch pillow before she laid down to enjoy a rerun of one of her favorite cheesy haunted horror stories shows. She pulled his coat over her shoulders before pulling a blanket over her legs, closing her eyes and focusing her attention more on the musky scent of his cologne which still lingered on his clothes.

Somewhere in the background of her dreams her phone buzzed.