She knew what was to come if she had said yes. He would've kissed her. He would've claimed her lips for himself, swept her off her feet, carried her up to that king-sized bed she dreamt of, and he would've made love to her all night long. She'd wake up to those golden-brown eyes in the morning and she'd be powerless. She'd beg for more, ignoring how sore she was from the night before, and he'd provide.

She wouldn't have been able to leave him. Even if he begged her to get up and get ready for work, she wouldn't have been capable of it. She wouldn't have left his house, she wouldn't have shown up to her shift.

She couldn't take her mind off of things. She couldn't think of anything else other than the meal he had made, the wine, the way his body felt pressed against hers, the way she felt every time their lips met. Not even her late-night solution to the tingling between her legs could help her the next day at work, and her performance began lacking because of it.

"Christine!"

She had stepped out to take her break at the same time she always did, hoping to squeeze in a phone call with Erik before she had to head back. She hoped Joe would at least allow her this one time to catch her breath. She knew it was foolish to hope.

"First you fucked up and wrote up fries instead of tots for a customer, then you wrote a request for extra tomatoes instead of no tomatoes on a burger—"

She drew in a long breath of air. She never messed up like this. Not this often. And now she was to pay the price by having to listen to the old routine of insults.

"Now we have to remake all this shit because you fucked up! Don't you know how much we've lost because of your mistakes today?"

Probably a whole dollar, she thought. In the past four hours of her shift handling several dozens of customers, she only received seven complaints. It wasn't as bad as it could've been, although she wished she hadn't messed up at all.

Her mind again, unintentionally, replayed a conversation she had with Erik the night before.

Just as she was about to head out, he gently tugged her away from the door, pressing his lips to hers for the final time as if it was his last hope in convincing her to stay. When he broke away, his fingers slipped into her hair, pushing it back from her face.

"I care about you, Christine."

She felt his words more than she heard them. She had lost count of many times he had sent her the same tender words over the phone, but hearing them with that voice…

"I was afraid after Sunday night that you wouldn't want to see me again." His eyes shifted between each of hers as if he was still searching for a grain of evidence that she wasn't there because she truly wanted to be. "That's why I left my coat with you," he confessed. "I knew you still had it on, but I thought at least…"

She watched his throat bob as he looked to their hands, connected between them. He held her so gently.

His voice swooped low she almost missed what he said. "I thought I might at least get to see you one final time if you decided to return it."

Christine squeezed lightly at his fingers, unsure what to say.

His eyes found hers once more. Even with the mask, she could tell his brows were deeply furrowed. "I don't know what I'm doing, I just know I want to do everything right with you, and I know I probably can't be the man you want—" she felt her heart turning in on itself. He'd really doubt the potential for their relationship?

"—but at least let me be the best man I can be for you."

Christine pulled him into an embrace. She couldn't remember what exactly she expected before she went on a date with him, but these heartfelt endearments weren't it. Even if much of his text messages had been that way, she thought it was just him buttering her up, preparing her to be all his. And maybe she wouldn't have admitted it, but she already was.

"Why don't you speak, bitch?!"

Christine jumped. She forgot where she was—not at his house, not in his arms.

Joe was practically hovering over her now, gritting his teeth. "Give me one good reason I shouldn't fire you."

"I'll give you one."

Christine jumped again, this time in surprise. Erik appeared from around the corner, pulling Joe off his feet and slamming him into the side of the dumpster. She was too shocked over Erik's sudden appearance to notice the look of pure fear on her manager's face.

"Do you really think that harassing one of your employees is going to do anything for your business?"

"Erik!" Christine could see Joe was struggling for air. She thought it was funny: he'd put her through hell for so long, and somehow she cared.

But Erik had told her the night before. "You're not like them, Christine. You're so much better. Don't let them get to you."

Immediately, Erik's grip loosened and Joe dropped to the ground, coughing and shaking. She saw Erik look at his hands as if he hadn't seen them before—like he'd lost control of them.

She grabbed his hand and pulled him along toward the parking lot. She didn't know where she was going, but anywhere was better than where they were.

"I better not see you back on this property, bitch!"

Joe had finally found his breath again. She felt and saw the same anger boil in Erik's eyes. He turned like a wild, defensive animal, snarling.

"Erik." Christine tugged at his hand, reminding him they were leaving.

He looked at her, innocence returning to his eyes. "Christine—"

"Don't let him get to you."

His throat bobbed and when she tugged at his hand again, he did not resist.

"What were you doing?"

Christine made Erik follow her to the grocery store near her house, initially thinking she'd confront him in her kitchen. A near-to-empty parking lot seemed like a better option. She didn't know what she was feeling, she didn't know what he'd say, she didn't know how she'd react.

Erik practically stumbled out of his car towards her, maintaining a careful distance. "I just wanted to visit you."

"Why?" She didn't intend on sounding so offended by his gesture. She knew he cared. She just couldn't bring herself to register all that had just occurred. He'd been so gentle with her, so cautious, and in one instant he had her manager up against the dumpster, ready to tear him apart limb from limb.

He took a moment to respond. "I— I thought maybe you'd been having a rough day and I wanted to…" He reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a wrapped sub sandwich. "I thought you'd appreciate actual food."

He hesitantly extended the sandwich to her, asking more than expecting her to take it. Instead, she slipped into his arms, pulling him tight. He was quick to accept her, folding her into him. She didn't think she had missed his arms—his warmth—this much.

"I don't know what I'm going to do."

He squeezed her tight. "I'm so sorry, Christine."

She could hear genuine regret in his voice, but he didn't have to say anything. She already knew.

This was what she was afraid of. She was afraid of being jobless, dependent on someone else. As much as she was already struggling on her own, and as good as Erik had been to her, she couldn't bring herself to trust him wholeheartedly. She had been slowly sinking on a boat full of holes, and he had been there to patch them all up. For once she was able to float. But the distant storm she had worried about for so long had come at last, and her boat was swept out from under her. All she had left to do was keep her head above water.

Erik gently pushed her back, gripping her at the shoulder. She looked at him, wide eyes meeting wider eyes.

"You can move in with me."

She thought she misheard him.

"I have a spare bedroom, you could go shopping for stuff to decorate your room and wherever else in the house." He slipped his hands down over her arms and pulled the knuckles of her hands to his lips. "You can be happy."

She closed her eyes, trying to calm her beating heart. She thought of the kitchen and all the meals they could prepare together, a living room with a large couch they could snuggle on, an office where she would finally have room to continue abandoned sewing projects. There was no room for a spare bedroom though, only their bedroom.

She'd spend her time watching the house, taking care of it and making it theirs. When he came home from work, she'd already have dinner and a bath ready. They'd feed each other nibbles of food as they soaked, and when they were done they'd head off to bed.

"I'll even get you a dog if I have to—"

He groaned when her mouth met his. If she went home, she'd have to wake alone. She'd have to face the reality she'd been running from for so long. Nowhere to go, nobody to be with. If she went home with him, maybe she'd have to stare at the walls on the occasion and contemplate how exactly she got there, but at least she'd have him. Or at least she could make herself enjoy having him while it lasted.

"Show me the way home," she whispered.

Christine had made the effort to pick up some groceries before heading back to his house.

"I'll have the fire going when you arrive," he said, packing a few essentials she had picked up from her house into the back of his car. "Drive safe."

The door was unlocked when she arrived, but Erik wasn't anywhere to be found. She dropped her bag in the kitchen, calling for him as she left for the dining room. She walked down the hall, still receiving no answer. He wasn't in the living room, and the fireplace there was dead. She left for the kitchen again, completely puzzled.

Erik was standing by the bar, eyeing her grocery bag with curiosity. He had changed into a pair of jeans and an orange waffle knit sweater that fit him perfectly. Even out of his business suit, Christine felt some deep urge to crawl into his lap and just let him hold her.

"I bought some stuff for s'mores." She crossed to the bar and pulled out a pack of graham crackers. "But we could do these another night if you changed your mind about the fire."

He shook his head and gestured toward a door she hadn't been through. "The fire's outside."

She formed a small O with her lips. Erik tugged at the strap of her apron. She didn't realize she was still wearing it.

"Don't you want to change out of these old rags?"

She laughed. "I guess I should."

Erik took the packet of graham crackers and stuffed them back into the grocery bag. "Meet me outside?"

Christine took her bag from the floor and nodded him off.

She wasn't able to stuff her entire closet into her duffle bag, but at least she was able to pick out a few of her favorite pieces for the week until she went back to retrieve the rest of her stuff. Christine settled on a lilac cashmere sweater Meg had sent her for her birthday a year before and a pair of black leggings.

Erik smiled as she stepped out onto his terrace. He was already seated on the sofa with a stick in hand, a marshmallow hovering over the firepit's flame.

"You know," he said as she took her seat beside him, lifting the stick he had picked out for her, "I've never had a s'more before."

She looked at him in surprise. "Really? Not even at any parties when you were younger?"

He shrugged, rotating his stick. "My mom wasn't very fond of allowing me to attend any parties. Sugar was out of the question, too."

Christine rolled her eyes. "So you had one of those moms."

She expected him to laugh or say something in response, but Erik only kept his focus on his marshmallow roasting.

She pulled a marshmallow out of the bag on the small table between them, pushing the pointed end of her stick through it before she submerged it in the fire.

"You're going to burn it."

She laughed. "That's the point, silly."

She watched for a few seconds before pulling the marshmallow from the fire, blowing it out as it blackened and bubbled. She could feel him judging her as she ripped open a pack of graham crackers and chocolate, sandwiching and pulling the marshmallow off the stick.

"This," she said, proudly holding her s'more up for his viewing, "is how you make a proper s'more."

She held it out towards his lips, urging him. Erik lifted his toasted marshmallow from the fire, leaning forward and biting into her creation. She watched in amusement as the gooey center split and strung out. He licked his lips, smiling as she giggled.

"You missed a spot." She leaned forward, kissing the corner of his mouth where a strand of marshmallow still sat, transferring it to her lips. It was his turn to laugh as she wiped the food from her mouth.

They left the fire smoldering after an hour of several more s'mores and chocolate kisses. Christine gave up after her third s'more, already feeling the effects of a sugar-induced coma. She set her stick on the ground where her feet had been, stretching herself out so that she could comfortably lay her head in his lap.

Between the crackling of the fire and his stroking at her hair, she gave in to sleep up until he decided it was time to go back in, scooping her into his arms to carry her up the stairs to a room he'd set the rest of her stuff in. There was nothing more than a queen-sized bed and mirror on the opposing wall. The walls themselves were just as lifeless, the room rather cold.

"I know it's not much, but once you make it yours…"

I'd much rather sleep with you for the night, she wanted to interject as he set her on the bed.

"I'm sure it'll be great."

He smiled, brushing her hair away from her face before leaning down to kiss her forehead. She remembered Meg's words to her, the concern that she was afraid to make a move. She probably wouldn't have done anything the night before if she hadn't felt loosened by the wine. Even tonight when she kissed him it was only because it was safe to do so.

Christine bit her lip. But what do I want?

She caught him by the collar of his sweater, pulling his lips down to her own. She was wondering if he'd ever get over the surprise of her kisses, watching through lidded eyes as his eyes widened and drooped.

He didn't seem to know what to do with his hands, leaving them bunched at her sides although most of his weight had relocated to the knee he had pressed into the mattress. She let go of his collar, taking his hands into her own, guiding them under the hem of her sweater. His hands were cold, sending a shiver up her spine.

But just as soon as she had his hands at her stomach, he'd pulled them back, breaking away with a gasp. He fell at the end of the bed by the bedpost, his pupils drawn in fear.

She sat up, frantically. "Is something wrong?"

He stood, backing slightly as if frightened by her. "I— I can't do this."

Christine cocked her head, confused. He had kissed her, laughed with her, held her. "You don't like me." She didn't mean to say it, but the thought slipped out of her mind and between her lips.

He was quick to dispel her suspicions. "No!" She jumped. "I do, Christine. I l-like you a lot." He bunched the front of his sweater in his fist. "I'm still trying to figure out how I can be the man I want to be for you."

It clicked: He's never had sex, dummy.

"I just need time."

Christine wanted to pull him back into bed with her, tell him it was okay and that she had no problem with guiding him or just cuddling up for the night. But his body language told her otherwise. She nodded him off, signaling that she understood.

She settled into bed uneasily, replaying everything that had just occurred. She'd been so selfish in not understanding why he really didn't want her sleeping with him, but then she remembered: his mask. She didn't think much of anything about his physical appearance besides the way he dressed being very appealing to her. She only really thought about the way he spoke, the things he said, the way he moved and carried himself like a gentleman. His face wouldn't have mattered to her. She just wanted his presence, his warmth, his voice whispering sweet things in her ear, his body between her legs…

After some shivering, the bed finally felt warm enough. She tried counting sheep, staring at the moon outside her window, and even playing some music from her Nighttime playlist, but nothing worked. She pulled out her Hitachi wand and plugged it into the outlet nearby. She hated the idea of doing this on her first night, but if she couldn't cease that tingling, she knew it would've been another hour or so before she fell asleep.

Christine closed her eyes and tried to remember his outfit, the hard line of his body. She tried imagining the night another way. He kissed her again and again, leading her up the stairs to her bedroom where he plopped her down on the mattress, trailing kisses down her chin, her throat, her breast. Desperately, he peeled off that sweater of his, and she followed. He kissed her again, down to the waistband of her leggings before slipping his hand underneath, finding her core slick.

"You're such a good girl, Christine."

She bit her lip and pressed herself into her wand as he ran his fingers over her, spreading the slickness of her heat.

"Don't resist it, sweetheart. You deserve to enjoy this."

Christine had to stifle a cry. She couldn't handle the sweet, tantalizing circles his fingers made.

"It's okay, Christine. It's okay."

She was gone in an instant, her toes digging into the quilt as pleasure shot through her and her mind went blank. "Thank you, Erik. Thank—"

She turned off her wand, opening her eyes to find her image staring right back across the room. The moonlight was casting just enough light for her to make herself out in the mirror: her hair a mess, her wand still pressed to her.

Imagine what Father would think if he knew you were like this, she thought with a shameful blush. Jobless, dependent on some man you can't stop having sexual fantasies about.

She cleaned her wand off and wrapped its cord around it, tucking it back into her bag. She laid her head back down, ignoring the pesky voice in her head nagging her for thinking of herself and what she wanted.

A comment Erik had made before sprouted in her head. "You deserve to take care of yourself." She smiled. Christine knew he was talking more about getting her nails done and visiting the spa at the moment, but she knew he wouldn't have wanted her to feel so humiliated for needing to satisfy a human desire.

"There's nothing wrong with taking care of yourself."

Christine pulled the pillow on the other side of the bed, tucking it beneath the covers and laying it vertically beside her. Maybe Erik couldn't have been there, maybe she would have to pretend a cotton-stuffed case of fabric was him for the night, but she didn't care. Soon enough the pillow would be replaced by the man himself, and she wouldn't have to depend on some massage therapy toy for pleasure either.

Soon enough.

A/N: I can't believe I left you guys hanging for 10+ days. The next chapter will come much sooner, promise!