Rose remained in blissful solitude for another hour until the sour–mouthed land lady called them all down for dinner. To Rose's dismay, the boarding house seemed to be filled with nothing more than rowdy men, all of them many years older than her. She tried to sit quietly and choke down the bitter, watery soup, trying to disappear as they joked lewdly with each other, thankfully ignoring her.

Then, he came down. The man who had helped her. He took the remaining seat (the one next to her) and gave a small smile–to her—before sitting down.

"Sorry," he said once he was seated. His voice was low and young. "Stupid me—I didn't get a chance to introduce myself earlier." He stuck out his hand, surprising Rose. "I'm Matt," he added.

Rose took his hand, but hesitated to answer. She still didn't know what he was, and not knowing was dangerous. But something welled up in her throat, and before she knew it—

"Rose." She fought to keep a straight face as her lips betrayed her.

"Rose," Matt repeated, still smiling. "That's a good name."

She studied him warily. She decided he was a pervert—either a dumb one or a smart one.

She returned to her soup, forcing the disgusting run-off down her throat—keenly aware of his eyes on her. "So, where are you headed?" He continued, his voice far too casual for Rose's liking. But once again, before she could even think of a false location, she found herself saying, "Just North, I guess. I'm traveling."

What the heck was wrong with her?

"Really?" Matt said, his eyes lighting up with interest in a very convincing manner and his spine straightening. "Me, too!"

Of course he was, the perv.

"Do you have a ride?" He continued, half of his attention on his slushy soup as he suspiciously skimmed it with his tarnished spoon.

This time, Rose was able to hold her tongue. "I s'pose," she replied, pleased with her nonchalantness. "But it's just my little car, and it's pretty cramped," she said, hoping to deter him.

"Is there any way you could fit me?" He asked, and Rose's heart jolted horribly. That was way too innocent a question for a pervert. Okay, it was official. He was a pain. He continued, "I tagged along with my cousin, Steven—" he gestured to one of the young men at the table, "But this is as far as he said he'd take me. I'm at a bit of a loss, here."

Rose looked at him for a moment. As always, his emerald eyes were wide and open and honest.

Then, to her enormous relief, she realized she had finished her soup.

As fast as her legs would carry her, she leapt up from the table and went for the steps as fast as she could without looking like she was running, leaving his question hanging open in the air and ignoring the surprised and slightly hurt look on his face.

—•—•—

When she finally made it to her room, she plopped down on the bed, running her hands through her hair. What the hell was happening to her? She had trained and conditioned herself the be a silver tongued entity, and she'd done a heck of a job, too. She could handle anything that came her way, able to blow it off and stay cool no matter how she felt inside. But there was something about this bloke that was frighteningly disarming.

She flinched when she heard a hard thump on the door, making the weak hinges rattle.

"What?" She snapped tersely, thinking it was the Land Lady making her come back out to clean up her abandoned dishes.

"Will you please talk to me?" Her heart plummeted when she detected none other than Matt's voice, ringing sharp with annoyance. Suddenly, she felt like a caged animal, cornered and trapped and frantic. Biting her lip, she yanked the zipper open on her front suitcase pocket and fished around until her hand closed around the slim, cool can of pepper spray she had bought for similar occasions.

"Rose?"

"Just a second!" She called, struggling with the adrenaline-spiked pitch of her voice. She stuffed the can deep into the pocket of her jumper before rolling back to her feet, taking a deep breath, and pulling the door open, wincing slightly as it squeaked in protest.

But the sight that greeted her was unexpected. Her alleged adversary stood in front of her, his arms crossed and eyebrows raised. Rose tried to formulate a remark, guessing he was going to wring her out or beat her down.

He said, his voice plain and slightly petulant, "Why are you afraid of me?"

Rose blanked, her hand halting where it lay concealed in the pocket of her jumper, wrapped around the warming can. "What?" She gawked.

Matt shifted irritatedly, up crossing his arms and thrusting them in his pockets before running them through his hair. "I don't get it," he huffed dejectedly, not meeting her eyes. "If you think I'm trying to have you on or something, I swear—I'm not. I wouldn't." He suddenly looked up, his eyes wide and confused. "But—you look at me—you look at me like you're convinced that I'm going to—I don't know—do something...bad. Why, though? I—I mean, what did I do?" His confusion seemed to be contagious: Rose couldn't understand why his tone wasn't accusatory—it was...pleading.

"Wait..." He breathed suddenly. He was staring her right in the face, and Rose took a tiny, unconscious step back. "You aren't really afraid of me, you just don't..." Understanding washed over his features, and he stepped back, his gaze softening and mouth quirking in a smile. "My name's Matthew Robert Smith. I'm twenty-one. I have three older brothers and one older sister—all of which who have ignored me from the day I was born. I can play rudimentary guitar, regard myself whole heartedly as a goofball, and graduated from college early with degrees in astronomy and cheese making. My favorite food is fish fingers and custard. I'm traveling because I was recently left on my own by a family who has always found some sort of self-serving use for me until now, and I've found myself a bit out of my time. The most important thing you should know about me is that I am always looking for an excuse to wear a bow tie."

Rose stared. She discreetly repositioned the bottle in her hand so she could juice him as soon as she pulled her hand out. He wouldn't know what hit him. "Why are you telling me this?" She said conversationally, hoping to distract him.

"Because I know what the problem is."

"Oh?"

"Yes," he said, all chipper. "You don't trust me—and rightfully so, I know that now, but there's something else. So..." He paused briefly, grinning truly now. "Why don't you meet me outside in five minutes, and I'll tell you my life story? Soul for a soul?" He joked, leaning forward congenially...

...As if he was daring her. Rose could have taken him out right there and then. It would be far too easy give a quick, agonizing blast of chemicals to his eager, too-honest eyes and duck back inside her room...but she held back. It was the same feeling that had made her talk to him, the same feeling that made her heart warm.

She didn't trust it...but hell.