Max showered and tended to his injured hand. He had few cuts but, hopefully, Avonlea wouldn't notice. He dressed in a white button down shirt and some jeans. He wasn't sure what to wear. His nerves were starting to get the best of him. He was pacing. At this rate he would work up a sweat if he didn't calm down. He needed to buy her a gift. He had seen her drinking wine. That was something people bought for these types of things.

He walked into the living room where August sat staring at the television. Since his strokes in the past year, his health had deteriorated and left him even more bitter and angry than he was before. His life had been filled with disappointment and tragedy. In his mind, the world owed him for his suffering, but had only repaid him with a grandson that reminded him of the man that took his daughter from him.

"August, I'm going out for dinner. There's left overs in the fridge. Let's do your medicine before I leave."

"Out for dinner?" August sneered, "You mean you're going to the new tenant's apartment. You think you'll be able to keep this one? She'll realize what you really are and leave. Just like the other one."

Max tried not to let his eyes fill with tears. Any show of weakness in front of August always resulted in physical pain. Luckily, now the worst he could manage was a slap. The best Max could do was remain silent and hope that August would move on.

"You're not going to defend yourself? It's because you know I'm right. What woman would want a weak pervert like you?"

Max loaded the syringe, cleaned the area with some alcohol, and gently placed the needle under his grandfather's weathered skin. He knew his grandfather was right. He was weak. He was perverted. It was the reason he was going to dinner. He couldn't stay away from her. Maybe, just maybe, she wouldn't leave.

"Goodnight, August," he left his grandfather alone in the apartment. He went out in the hallway and stood outside her door. He leaned his against the wood breathing deeply….knowing she was inside helped calm him. She wanted to see him. She was cooking for him…for them…not someone else. That thought was enough for him to gather his courage and go buy the wine he had thought of earlier.

An hour or so later, he had two bottles of wine. He had found the wine bottle he had seen in her apartment. It was easy to find being the only white wine with polka dots up the neck of the bottle. A bubbly moscato. He had also gotten himself a cabernet sauvignon. He snuck back into his apartment to get the cupcakes. August had fallen asleep in his chair.

Again, he found himself outside her door. One arm cradled two bottles of wine, the other held the container of red velvet treats. He tried to balance everything in one arm as he awkwardly knocked three times and held his breath. He heard locks click and a chain rattle before the door opened cautiously. Her brown eyes peeked through the crack before the door swung wide open.

"Hi," she said with a shy smile.

"Hi," he gave her a dimpled lopsided grin as he looked down at his feet.

"Oh, you brought wine! That was so thoughtful. You didn't have to do that. Here let me take something." She grabbed the container of cupcakes and held the door open for him. "Come on in, Max."

He followed her inside. Her apartment was lit with the soft glow of sunset through the windows and lamps on end tables and in corners instead of the overhead lights. Her furniture was plush in shades of light greys, blues and greens. She had a large desk in what would have been the dining room. Stacks of papers, folders, and colorful pens cluttered the top. They reached the kitchen with a small distressed wood table with matching chairs. It was already set with mismatched tableware. He could smell garlic and spices. It smelled amazing.

"Hope you don't mind eating in here. I turned my dining room into my office. I typically don't entertain a lot."

"It's fine. It smells really good in here." He could see a casserole dish with lasagna cooling on top of the oven. A plate with garlic bread and a bowl of Caesar salad. She had gone through a lot of effort just for him. He wondered if he would be able to eat with all the flutters in his stomach. "It looks really good too."

"Hopefully, it tastes good," she giggled nervously. "Um. Let me get a bottle opener and some glasses."

He placed the bottles on the counter and watched as glided through the kitchen gathering things they needed. She was still wearing the dress from earlier. It had a floral pattern with thick shoulder straps and a zipper down the back. Her hair was pulled up now though in a mass of curls. He could see her tattoos peeking through. Flowers. They were definitely flowers. He could see the edges of petals in shades of pink and blue. The leaves were green and seemed to twirl away from the rest of the flower. If only he could pull the zipper, he would be able to see the rest of her artwork. He hadn't yet descended into watching her in intimate situations like bathing. He could feel the pull and knew it wouldn't be long. He hated himself for how excited those thoughts made him.

She reached for one of the bottles, "Oh, this is my favorite! How did you know?"

He blushed and shrugged his shoulders, "I just picked a white with a cute label. I'm glad you like it though."

"Do you want white or red?" she looked expectantly at him.

"Red. Your moscato is too sweet for my taste."

"Yeah, I have a really bad sweet tooth in all things…alcohol included," she laughed as she poured then opened the other bottle. She handed Max his glass. She walked over the table, set her glass down, and grabbed the plates. "This is going to be buffet style, so just help yourself. There's plenty. I figured I could just send some of it home with you. I thought maybe your grandfather might like some."

"I'm sure he'd appreciate that. I rarely make anything as nice as this."

They served themselves and took their plates back to the table. Conversations was light as they ate. Mostly just him complimenting the food, her saying thank you, and telling him things like what ingredients she used in the sauce. It seemed both were too nervous to eat and talk at the same time. They alternated stealing glances at each other blushing furiously each time they caught each other's eye.

Finally, after eating most of his food and drinking a glass of wine, Max was able to ask her some more personal questions even if he already knew most of the answers.

"So, Avonlea, what do you do?"

"I'm a writer and editor."

"What do you write?"

"Some freelance things for websites," she added in a mutter, "And some books."

"You've written books? As in plural?"

"Um, yeah."

"And they've been published? What kind of books?"

"Ok, here it goes," she sighed, "I write historical romance novels. I have been published for the last 5 years. I written 10 books so far."

"Why do you seem embarrassed?"

"Well I, typically, don't like to talk about it, because people like to tell me how that's not legitimate writing, and men tend to either feel intimidated or think I'm a super freak then start getting weird and pushy. "

"I could see how that could happen, I guess. I think it's great."

"You do?"

"I've always admired people who could do creative things. Writing…art…it takes special kind of person to hone those talents and to put themselves out there. If it were easy everyone would do it. So, it shows me that you have real talent and have worked hard to achieve success." He looked up from his plate to see her blushing with a slight smile playing across her face as she looked at him.

"Thank you. No one has ever said that to me before. I've always had to defend my writing."

"It's not easy to have an interest that many consider taboo."

"Oh really? What's your taboo interest?" she teased.

"Me? I read historic romance novels." He winked at her.

She laughed and swatted his arm, "You do not."

He loved her laugh. It was light and airy. It made her eyes seem brighter. "No," he admitted, "But I might read yours. It'd be interesting to see what kind of brain hides behind that sweet face."

"You'd be sorely disappointed."

"I doubt that." He stood from the table and started reaching for her plate.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm going to do the dishes."

"Max, you're my guest. You can't do the dishes."

"Yes, I can. You made this wonderful meal. I'm not leaving you with all these dishes to do later after everything sets and hardens. You can start putting the rest of the food away though. Then you can come and dry the pots and pans." He looked at her and saw her pouty frown. He smiled gently and said, "Please, let me help."

"If you insist on making my life easier…I guess I won't complain." She grabbed her phone and put on a music app.

He grabbed her glass. Her lips had left behind her red lip gloss. He could see lines like finger prints unique to only her and ran his fingers over it imagining it was her mouth.

"Sorry," she said when she saw him staring at her lip prints. "Hazard of make-up. I'll wash it if it's being difficult."

"No—no, I got it." Reluctantly, he washed the evidence of her kiss away with a soapy sponge and warm water.

They worked together getting the kitchen cleaned. After she finished putting away the food, she stood next to him at the sink. Shoulder to shoulder they washed and dried the dishes. She'd hum or sing quietly with the music. He could feel the heat of her skin through his sleeves. Her perfume smelled like pears, roses, and vanilla. He didn't want this moment of domestic bliss to end. This is how it should be. Two people together. Happily doing everyday tasks with each other.

As she dried the last pot she asked, "Would you like some coffee to do with dessert? I have decaf, if you like."

"That'd be great."

She brewed a pot and soon the kitchen was filled with the aroma of ground beans. He would forever think of her whenever he smelled coffee. They took their cupcakes and coffee to the living room to enjoy on the couch. They placed their hot mugs on the coffee table and their plates rested on their laps.

"So, where are you from?" Max asked.

"I lived in a small rural town just outside the city. Close enough to make day trip for whatever needs come up, but far enough to have space. My parents have some acreage and they let me move into the guest house while I went to school and wrote."

"Why did you move here?"

"Well, it was actually for work. I wanted to try to branch out into contemporary romance. I had an idea for one, but it takes place in a big city. I've never lived in one before, so I thought I should experience it firsthand that and my mom was dying for me to go live a little. I saved a lot of money living at parents for so long. I figured out a budget between what I make at my day jobs and my savings. I have enough to do this for a little while. Hopefully, I can write what I need to sooner rather than later."

"Then you're just going to leave?" His heart was already breaking. She just came into his life. She couldn't leave.

"I'm not sure. I would have to have a really good reason to stay."

Their eyes met briefly then both turned their attention to their cupcakes. Max moaned as he bit into his. "This is so good."

"Thanks. So, Max. Tell me about yourself. How did you become the owner of this building?"

He frowned. He didn't like to talk about his past. He didn't want to scare her away with the dark story of his parents. "My family bought the building in the 40's."

"And you own it now with your grandfather?"

"Yes."

"May I ask where your parents are?"

"The passed away when I was little."

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Max." She reached over and placed her hand over his injured one. He tried not to flitch. She was touching him. He didn't want her to stop even if it stung. Her thumb rubbed over his knuckles and stopped.

"What happened to your hand?" She grabbed his wrist with one hand and opened his fist with the other. Her hand ran over his palm, flipped his hand and started delicately studying his injury as she her fingers trailed up and down his long fingers.

"I just cut myself. Occupational hazard working with tools and sharp objects. I just wasn't paying attention," he managed to say trying not to be too dazed by her attentions.

"Does it hurt? Do you need ointment or a band aid?"

He smiled at her concern, "I'm fine really." He reluctantly pulled his hand from hers and place his hands in his lap strategically hoping to conceal his growing arousal. "So, how do you like living in the big city?"

"It's loud and crowded."

"Yeah. The F train probably doesn't help."

"It's pretty crazy. I had to find a sleeping pill to help me at night. Knocks me right out. I sleep like the dead now. I haven't heard that train in 2 nights."

Max's heart stopped. As if he didn't already have enough temptation. He needed to go before he ruined the rest of the date.

"Are you okay?"

"Um…yeah, I should probably go though. I need to check on August."

"Oh, okay. I'll just….I'll just go get your left overs then." She walked to the kitchen as he made his way towards the door. She had sounded disappointed. What was he doing? He was leaving before he could make a major mistake like kissing her or touching her. He wouldn't be able to control himself much longer. He needed to do this right. Take his time. The slower he went, the longer it would be before she figured out he wasn't worth it.

"Here you go." She handed him some containers and opened the door for him. "I had a really nice time tonight."

He walked through the threshold and turned around to face her. "So, did I."

She looked up at him and took as step closer. Her hand reached up for his cheek and she pressed her lips to his. He froze. She was kissing him. He never imagined she would kiss him. Her lips were soft. They still tasted faintly of red velvet and the remains of her cherry flavored lip gloss. She pulled back before he could respond. Her face was hidden as she looked at the ground and said softly, "Oh, ok then. Good night, Max." and closed the door.