Erik awoke the next morning reluctantly after a wonderfully vivid dream. In his dream, the evening did not end at that near-kiss, nor did it end with them separating properly into their rooms. He felt his face flush at the memory of what happened in his slumbering fantasy. Then, as abruptly as that familiar lusty ache crept over his loins, the singularly depressing realization that it was nothing more than a dream, slammed him back into the reality of the morning.

He sighed and with the resignation of the weary, began his morning ablutions. He could hear Christine in the adjoining room doing the same. He dressed warmly for he could hear the sea breeze howling against the weathered side of the cozy cottage inn. He could only hope for a repeat of the need for sharing his warmest cloak again today.

His hopes were dashed as he exited to the hall where Christine was waiting for him, dressed equally as warm and with the addition of her thicker wool cloak and gloves. She smiled sheepishly at him and wished him a quiet "Good morning," before familiarly taking his arm to descend the stairs to the main room of the house. Since it was early and the foul wind cropping up was keeping most to their beds late, the breakfast nook was practically deserted, save one or two single travelers eating a quick hot meal before getting an early start on their journey.

Marie was bustling about in the kitchen with a few of her servants. They could hear pots and pans clanging here and there and Marie's familiar voice giving orders to "make sure that doesn't burn," or to "check the coop for more eggs."

Erik and Christine sat at a small weathered table nearest to the fire that was crackling familiarly. Neither of them said a word to the other until after Marie had taken notice of them sitting and came by to ask what they would like to eat. Christine asked for a simple meal of eggs and toast. She smiled up at Marie and added, "Do you still make your own raspberry preserves?"

Marie winked at her and nodded. "I thought you might be asking after that so I opened a fresh jar just for you. There's also the sweet cream butter to go along with it." Marie exclaimed to Erik, who was trying to seem very inconsequential at the table, "Christine and her young friend Raoul used to steal a jar of it when they thought I wasn't going to notice." She chuckled, "I always did notice though, but even if I scolded them for it, it wouldn't have done any good. They would have been into the cheese or butter. It seems I couldn't keep those two out of the pantry when they came to stay. Raoul was always such a hungry boy. I swear he could eat anything I put down in front of him." Marie noticed Erik was not enjoying the recollection as much as Christine, whose eyes were shining with the memories and the embarrassment of the story. She cleared her throat and wiped her hands down her apron and said, "Well it shouldn't be long for your breakfast. I'll get to it then." She turned to leave, and exclaimed, "Oh my! I've prattled on so much I've forgotten to ask what you would like this morning," this directed at Erik.

"Coffee please. Black," Erik replied sullenly.

"Only coffee?" Marie said. She harrumphed, "Not in my kitchen! I'll serve you a good and proper meal for such a blustery day. Only coffee, indeed!" She started barking orders at the servant nearest the kitchen door as she left them to wait.

Christine ducked her head and said to Erik, "I should have warned you about her. Those who don't ask for anything to eat here end up getting fed the most. Marie likes to feed people. Her husband was, well, more than portly." She laughed.

Erik smiled and said, "I'm afraid I am truly not very hungry this morning." He looked down at the table, his fingers following the grain pattern of a knot in the surface.

"I'm sorry she brought him up again," Christine said, guessing at the reason for his lack of appetite.

Erik sighed. "Christine, it's not a subject that I enjoy hearing first thing in the morning on an empty stomach," he replied, sounding like the mention of Raoul left a horrible taste in his mouth.

Christine did not have much to say. She understood his lack of congeniality towards Raoul. She knew that Marie did not bring up the subject deliberately, as she could have no way to know how it affected Erik's mood. She would have to have a private word with the woman later.

Erik, wanting to lighten the mood said, "So, you stole jam when you were a child? I never would have pegged you for a thief."

Christine looked up and saw the mirth in his eyes at the accusation. "I guess I really was a naughty little child back then. What can I say? A girl sometimes has a sweet tooth." she winked at him.

Marie came back out with a tray full of tiny jars, one being full of the raspberry jam. The others contained butter, honey, soft cheese, and an assortment of other spreadable condiments. Erik's eyes nearly bulged out when she came back with a larger tray. On a tiny side of the tray there was Christine's simple breakfast of toast and eggs, but the rest of the tray had piled high, an assortment of pastries, sausages, crisp bacon, freshly baked bread, and at least three types of prepared eggs. She set the load down in front of him and said, "Now if you don't eat at least half of this I'll be disappointed."

Christine giggled at the comparison of her plate to Erik's monstrously sized meal. He looked back and forth between Christine, the heaping plate, and Marie. Incredulity was something even his mask could not hide.

He grabbed a pastry and stuffed it into his mouth, all the while staring at Marie, until, satisfied, she left for the kitchen. Christine picked up her fork and started into her eggs while she watched Erik's best attempts to not turn down the woman's challenge.

"You know," Christine said between bites, "This isn't a competition between you and Raoul to see who has the bigger appetite."

He glared at her while shoveling an omelet into his mouth. What did she know about what was and wasn't a competition. He was competing with the boy on every level he knew existed. If he could somehow impress Christine by raiding this innkeeper's pantry then so be it.

An hour later Erik felt as though he would burst when he climbed into the taxi he hailed. He tried to hide from Christine the fact that he had to loosen the button on his trousers. Never had he eaten such a large meal in his life. Not wanting to be outdone by Raoul or have Madame Beauchamp think he was a stingy eater, he had nearly licked the plate clean of every morsel. It was only once they were seated in the carriage that Christine, her face hidden behind a gloved hand, added, "She forgot your coffee."

Erik had decided that today was not the best day to spend standing about a graveyard ruining their voices with the wind. It had died down a bit since earlier in the morning but it still gusted against the side of the carriage. He ordered the driver to take them into town so Christine could visit the shops she knew.

Christine looked out the window of the carriage and exclaimed, "Francois'!" She smiled, "I used to go there with my father. It was the best toy shop I had ever seen. Most of the toys were too expensive but my father knew the owner so I was allowed to play with some of them. Once my father played at one of their family parties and he requested that his only pay was a doll I had wanted very badly."

Erik leaned forward and tapped his cane handle on the front to alert the driver to stop.

"Erik? Why are we stopping here?" Christine asked.

"Childish though it may be, I want you to go inside and look around and buy yourself something you always wanted as a little girl." he replied.

Her eyes lit up but she protested, "That's silly. I don't have a need for toys anymore. Besides, I still don't have the money, even with my oh-so-extravagant salary as a ballet rat," she replied as she sat back in the seat again.

"Silly it is, and wasteful, perhaps, but I never said that YOU would be the one paying." He held out his coin purse, which was very heavy and fat looking.

She looked at him, skeptical, and then reached for the purse. He helped her down out of the carriage and she turned to enter the shop. Erik stood still at the carriage door.

"Aren't you coming with me?" she queried.

"Humph," he blew. "The last thing I need is to give some child nightmares about me." He leaned against the carriage side, "You go ahead without me. I'll wait here."

She stared at him for a moment more, then with a shake of her head, left him to go look in the shop.

Erik thought about re-entering the carriage to escape the cool breeze that was blowing up his cloak periodically, but it made it more difficult to watch Christine peruse the shop through the front window. He saw her talking with a man inside. He was probably the son of the owner since he gestured towards an old man sitting on a chair in the corner that, through failing eyesight, squinted at her and seemed to recollect who she was. She greeted him with a familiar hug and gestured around the store. While she started looking at objects on the shelves, Erik's attention was drawn elsewhere. Across the street stood a jeweler's shop.

He was drawn to cross the street out of boredom and also to satisfy the cruel fantasy that he might one day have need to visit a jeweler for that one special item of a wedding band. Through the window he could see a young man fidgeting impatiently in front of the counter while an ancient old man was setting a stone with his instruments into a gold band. The young man looked nervous and excited. All the emotions a young groom should have before presenting his beloved with an engagement ring and a promise of marriage. Erik closed his eyes and imagined it were he inside the store, waiting for an eternity for the finishing touches on the most beautiful ring ever created. It would be perfectly set in a delicate web of filigree gold with the tiniest sapphires surrounding a crystal clear diamond. He could imagine getting down on one knee and with shaking hands, placing the ring on Christine's tiny left hand ring finger.

A bell chiming on the door broke him from his reveree as the young man exited, putting a small black box deep into his coat pocket and giving Erik a quizzical look as he passed him onto the street. Erik followed him with his eyes and saw Christine exiting Francois' toy shop, looking for him. He sighed and walked over to meet her and help her back into the carriage. He only half listened as she prattled on about the shop keeper and the toy she bought. She held it up to show him. It was a small music box figurine of a ballerina twirling on a small mirrored stage.

"It was the only practical thing I could think of. I think I am a little old for a doll or a top to spin," she added. She handed the purse back to him and he stared at it sadly.

"… trade all the money in the world for…" she caught him murmur under his breath as he concealed the purse in his cloak pocket.

Sensing his mood had changed since before they stopped she sat back to enjoy the silence and scenery and give him time to pass whatever thoughts were now haunting his brain.

The driver took them through the rest of town, but since the wind was picking up and blowing even more mercilessly than before, Christine suggested to Erik that they take pity on the poor man and pull in someplace warm to get out of the foul weather.

Erik put his head out the side and asked the driver if there was a place they could stop and get something hot to drink. He caught the relieved grumbling of the man as he ducked his head back inside and shuttered the thick curtains. A time later they pulled into the front of a small tavern at the far edge of town. Erik was not very pleased with the seedy appearance of the place, but was just as relieved as Christine and their driver to see a nice steady fire roaring at either end of the tavern hall. Erik gave the man a few heavy coins from his purse and suggested he get himself a mug of hot coffee. Erik knew full well by the weight of the coin he was more likely to warm up with some stiff whiskey or the like instead.

He and Christine pulled up a few chairs close to the fire while the driver saw to the horses outside. A boy came round to take their cloaks and Erik shoved a gold piece in his palm and said in a low voice, "Coffee and privacy please."

The boy's wide eyed stare only lasted for a moment at seeing his mask but then he saw that he held an enormous sum of money in his grubby hand and excitedly raced off behind the bar to fetch a kettle and mugs.

Erik leaned back in his chair and softly groaned as he rolled his shoulders.

"Is anything the matter, Erik?" Christine inquired.

"No. It's just the cold. It makes an old injury complain when the chill gets to my bones," he replied wearily. He did not want to admit that most of the hurt lie in the ache in his chest. 'Today,' he thought, 'has been a rather dismal day so far.'

They sipped their mugs of coffee, grateful for the warmth seeping into their hands. The boy had stared surreptitiously out of the corner of his eye at Erik, but with one dark glare from him, retreated back to the bar where his master was grumbling at him to finish the floors.

Christine tried long and hard to come up with something she could talk about to get Erik's mind off of whatever had upset him. She assumed it still had to do with the mention of Raoul that morning. She knew when he entered one of his moods it was difficult to get him out of it.

"I certainly hope the weather is fair tomorrow," she began. "I would dearly love to show you around more places that I used to visit with my father."

Erik gave her a distracted "Mhmm," as he stared at the popping and sizzling log in the hearth.

Christine sighed, "I know talking about the weather is boring, but I don't know what other subject is blasé enough to tiptoe around what is on your mind."

Erik looked up at her that time. She was staring at him expecting an answer.

"Well since you brought it up, there really isn't any avoiding it I suppose. If I say that 'nothing' is bothering me, you will either insist I elaborate or you will sit back and quietly come up with your own explanation, which may or may not be a correct one."

Christine put her mug down on the small table between them and leaned forward; a very insistent look on her face. "Are you going to tell me what's bothering you or are you going to tiptoe around it some more?"

Erik was surprised. She wasn't usually so direct with him.

He sighed. "You know how you were telling me earlier that when you were a little girl, there were many things you wanted badly but just couldn't have?"

She nodded. "Yes. I do."

"My preoccupation is to do with the same predicament, but on a much larger scale and more serious than puppets and playthings," he replied vaguely.

"Meaning?" she questioned.

He did not continue.

"Is there something you want?" Christine asked him.

Erik looked at her and very nearly laughed. Here, sitting across from him was the very thing he wanted the most and could not have, simply because she would not have him. She was not something to be bought or stolen or even negotiated for.

"Yes, there is," he replied sadly. "But there is little hope I will ever have it."

"Erik, if there is anything I can do to give you what you want. You have done so much for me. Name it and it's yours," she responded earnestly.

'You,' he thought.

He choked back the tears that threatened to spill out over his mask. He leaned forward and held her hand in his. "Don't worry yourself about it. I've grown accustomed to doing without."

He sat back in his chair and took up his mug again. Anything to swallow the lump in his throat. She looked sadly back at him.

"Drink, Christine. You're coffee is getting cold."