Margaret ended up sleeping over at Andrew's again after their date. She had put on his mom's old pj's and the same sweatshirt from the night before, brushed her teeth with the toothbrush she stored in his medicine cabinet, and wordlessly climbed into bed practically before he had even taken off his shoes. They didn't have to talk to know that they weren't going to have sex yet. One step at a time, they both thought. Their date was emotionally exhausting; it was enough for one day. They held each other as they slept, but this time Margaret held Andrew back, trying to give him the love and reassurance he always gave her. She had never thought he needed it, but she was beginning to discover that relationships are a two-way street.

They woke up in each other's arms. Andrew was hard, again. It's like a rude awakening for both of them each morning; there's this undeniable sexual need between them, yet there's nothing they can do about it at this point in their relationship, and it's killing them. It felt different this time. Margaret's initial shock of being presented with the fact that Andrew has, well, needs, just like every other horny guy she's ever dated, despite how respectful and unobtrusive he is around her, was starting to wear off. Instead, she was more curious. Is this because I'm in his bed or does this happen to him every morning?

Almost like he was reading her mind, Andrew explained.

"I swear this doesn't happen every morning. I'm really sorry." He blushed.

She could tell he was intensely embarrassed and uncomfortable. Much to her surprise, Margaret didn't share his embarrassment. Up until last night, she hadn't thought about how difficult this must be for him, and not just this morning. He, too, had insecurities and fears. He usually hid it so well.

"Baby, it's ok. You can't help it" She pulled him into her embrace, gently stroking the back of his neck.

She just called him baby, unironically. What the fuck is happening to me? She thought. She hoped he wouldn't notice.

"You just called me baby." He chuckled.

Fuck. "Sorry, I don't know what came over me."

"I think it's sweet, baby." He said as he kissed her forehead. He said it with a hint of sarcasm, but she could hear the sincerity in his voice.

They decided to spend the day together. Afterall, it was supposed to be their honeymoon. Andrew was on the phone with his parents for about two hours, explaining over and over again to them that yes, he is in love with Margaret, and yes, she is in love with him, and yes, they fell in love that weekend but they didn't discuss it before Margaret left him at the altar, and no, they had zero plans to use the baby-making blanket anytime soon. When Andrew got off the phone, he found Margaret frozen in the kitchen, biting her nails while her brow furrowed in anxious thought. Andrew walked up beside her. She still didn't look at him. She jumped when he gently touched her back.

"Jesus, Andrew." She exclaimed. "You scared me. Is everything okay? Are your parents mad? What did your dad say? Is Gammy okay? What about Gertrude, what did she think? Does-"

"Margaret!" He interrupted. "Everything is fine. My dad's not mad, although I think he's still skeptical. My mom talked him into being supportive. Gammy's fine. They want to know when they can see us again. They remembered you said something about going up there for Christmas?"

She breathed a huge sigh of relief. They don't hate me. She thought. Thank God.

"Yeah I suggested it when I was getting fitted for my dress…" She trailed off absentmindedly.

"Margaret, that's fantastic!" His eyes lit up. "Alaska in the winter is beautiful. I know you would love it. Every year my parents do a huge Christmas lights display and the whole town comes to watch it! We'll put up a Christmas tree, and exchange gifts, and I can teach you how to ski!"

She had never seen Andrew this excited. She had forgotten what it's like to have family traditions, and spend holidays from work with people who care about you. It sounded… nice. Maybe some of his excitement would rub off on her.

She broke into a smile, the same warm, genuine smile that made him fall in love with her.

"That sounds really nice, Andrew. I'm… looking forward to it."

He could tell she really meant it. He kissed her then. He took her face in his hands and rubbed reassuring circles on her soft cheeks. She kissed him back, welcoming him into her mouth without hesitation, just two people, trying to become one. He prodded her tongue gently at first, slowly building up a fiery rhythm between them, give and take, give and take. She snaked one hand up to his face, grazing his chiseled jawline that she loved so much, while her other hand found its way into his silky hair, bringing him impossibly close.

They were really going at it—usually one of them would stop the kiss before it went too far, before they crossed a line they didn't dare speak about—but this time, the kiss was too good to stop. It was like all of the love and insecurities and anger and longing that had been building between them was bubbling up to the surface, push and pull, push and pull. They both moaned. They weren't sure who it was, Andrew couldn't tell where he ended and Margaret began.

Andrew, initially intoxicated by her kiss, regained his consciousness and dared to take the step they'd been waiting for. He slowly moved his hand up from her waist, barely grazing the underside of her breast. Margaret immediately tensed up. Shit. He thought. He really thought she was ready. That kiss was different; it felt like, for the first time, her guard was truly down.

Margaret snapped back to reality when she felt his hand on her breast. Almost instinctively, she tensed up, and the moment of honesty between them was gone almost as quickly as it began. She stumbled back from his embrace, panting, disoriented, trying to reestablish her footing, trying not to lose it in front of him. Her hands were shaking.

"Margaret… what's wrong." He panted. He was all worked up too, trying to come back to Earth.

"I…" She was searching for the words. "I can't do this, Andrew. You went too fast."

She shot him a glare from under her eyelashes. She was back to her old tactics, a wall of fiery anger building up inside of her to keep her from falling apart.

"Are you serious? I barely touched you." Andrew said defensively. He was involuntarily mirroring her anger. He wasn't her subservient assistant anymore. He didn't owe her an apology for something he didn't do. He could feel the heat rising in his throat.

"You did touch me! And you would've gone further if I didn't stop you! I never gave you permission to touch me like that, and it was honestly disgusting."

She could feel the fire rising in her throat, her voice breaking with uncontrollable anger.

"Margaret, you're completely overreacting. I barely fucking touched you. You need to calm down." Andrew said coolly, with an intense current of rage running beneath the surface.

"I'm overreacting?! You're fucking crazy, Andrew. You crossed the line."

Before he could say anything, Margaret ran to the bathroom and slammed the door behind her. She was still breathing heavily, this time from anger instead of love. Her hands were still shaking. She gripped the countertop as hard as she could, squeezing it until her knuckles turned white. She could feel a familiar lump in her throat, choking it down before the tears could spill out uncontrollably. Eventually, her breathing slowed and her hands steadied, and she was left with a deep ache in her heart that left her empty and broken.

She had overreacted, she knew that, but there was so much Andrew didn't know that was causing her so much pain. She knew she would have to tell him eventually, so they could move forward in their relationship, but she was scared, so terribly scared.

It had been two hours and Margaret was still holed up in the bathroom. At first, Andrew had been so angry he could hardly think. He paced around the kitchen island to calm himself down, before splashing cold water on his face and settling himself on the couch to wait for Margaret to confront him. Even though it took practically ten steps to walk from one side of the apartment to the other, Margaret still found a way to distance herself from him.

He wasn't angry anymore. He knew there was something else going on with her that was made her so reactive when he tried to take the next step in their physical relationship. But what could it possibly be? He knew she hadn't been with a man in a year in a half, but he would think that would make her more excited to have sex, not less. He knew she was scared of intimacy, but how scared? Was it possible she would never want to have sex with him, just out of fear?

His anger was replaced with worry. It had been two hours and she hadn't made a sound. Was she okay in there? He contemplated knocking on the door, trying to coax her out when he heard the bathroom door open. By the time he turned his head, he could tell she had already escaped into his bedroom. It was 11 pm by now; she was probably tired. They would talk about it in the morning, Andrew decided.

Andrew opened the bedroom door. The lights were still on but Margaret was curled up on the side of the bed, probably pretending to be asleep so they wouldn't have to talk. Andrew respected her silent plea and crawled under the covers, switching the lamp off into total darkness. They were in the same bed, but they were worlds apart as they fell into a fitful sleep.