Disclaimer: One of the areas that I find hard to write about PoTO is the music side. I don't have a background in music (I fake my way through guitar and piano), especially anything that has to do with opera. This chapter alludes to some of that, but I've tried to stay away from anything complex. My apologies if anything sounds weird or seems out of place.

Chapter 14

It was another one of those blustery autumn days, the kind that usually had my mother beelining straight for the kitchen. Once there, she'd stay for hours, whipping up everything from homemade bread to stews to her famous applesauce cookies. From late September until Christmas, it seemed our house was always filled with the smell of warm, delicious, hearty food.

It was on a day like today that I really missed mom's cooking. I was a decent enough cook, when I tried, but there was no point in going to all that trouble to cook for one. Even before I tore apart my kitchen, I really never took the time to make anything from scratch. Not when buying something pre-made was so much easier.

But it was a perfect day to work on my kitchen. I had just returned from a trip to the home improvement store with the grout for the countertop, and I was excited to get started.

Erik watched from the sidelines as I mixed the prerequisite amount of water and grout in the empty bucket at my feet. Things had been different since he'd returned. That night had been a turning point for us both, although I wasn't exactly sure what had changed. What I did know what that he seemed more at ease around me now. The underlying tension that always seemed present whenever we were together was gone and, in its place, a tentative friendship had formed between us.

"Tell me about Christine," I asked, hoping that starting a conversation would relieve the awkwardness of him watching me work. "What was she like?"

He stared back at me blankly, a complete deer-in-the-headlights look upon his masked face. It was getting easier to read him, even with the mask. His eyes were one of his most expressive features, followed closely by his hands. He liked to use his hands when he talked, and the graceful motions he made with them were mesmerizing to watch. Stiff shoulders and a firm jaw usually meant he was annoyed. He held his arms closer to his chest when he was feeling insecure or unsure of something. And most of the time, big flourishing movement with his hands meant that he was passionate about what he was talking about.

"Don't look so startled," I chuckled. "It's just a question. It's not like I'm asking you to divulge the location of your secret lair."

Once he realized I was teasing him, he relaxed a little. And then, with an almost flippant raise of his shoulder, he said, "You'll have to forgive me if I'm not the greatest conversationalist. I'm…out of practice."

"And I'm sure you could come up with a dozen or more analogies on how practice makes perfect," I tossed back at him with a sly grin. I wasn't letting him off that easily.

"Touché, mademoiselle."

"So…?" I prompted. Moments passed, and when he still seemed unwilling to take the reins, I asked, "What did she look like?"

Erik's golden eyes softened wistfully. "Fair skin and long, curly brown hair. Her eyes were the color of the deepest sky and her lips a soft, rosy pink. She was a vision of beauty…."

I listened enviously as he described her in loving detail and wondered if Ben had ever used words like that when he talked about me.

"Was she tall?"

"No." He shook his head. "She was small, both in stature and in spirit. I spent the first few months of her tutelage trying peel away the layers of insecurity and convince her to come out of her shell."

"How come?"

"Her father had recently passed. From what I gathered, they were each other's entire world, and his death left a gaping hole in heart."

"I can relate," I quietly volunteered. "Both my parents were killed in an accident a couple years ago. The pain of losing them has never really gone away."

"I'm sorry."

"Thanks."

We lapsed into silence, each of us momentarily lost in our own thoughts.

Well, this conversation got awkward real quick, I thought.

Desperate for something to keep my hands and my mind occupied, I lugged the bucket of grout over to the countertop, dipped the putty knife into the mixture, and began carefully stuffing it in the crevices between the tiles. The grout didn't want to slide off the knife, so I took my finger and pushed it down and into the hole and then used the flat edge to try to make it as smooth as possible. I stifled a sigh. At this pace it was going to take me forever to get it all done.

When I twisted back around to put more grout on the knife, Erik was staring at me, his head tilted quizzically to one side, his eyebrow raised just enough that it crested over the top of his mask.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm putting grout in between these tiles," I replied, showing him the putty knife with the grout before turning back to my work.

His quiet laughter drifted over to me.

"What?" My head reared up. "What's so funny?"

"You are making that more difficult than it needs to be."

I could feel my cheeks heat up and imagined that they were turning all sorts of red.

"How the hell would you know?" I snapped, tossing the putty knife on the counter so I could fold my arms across my chest defensively.

"I spent many years as an architect and a master mason and helped with the construction of the Paris Opera House," he answered calmly. "I think that gives me some qualifying experience."

I opened my mouth to say something, but no words came out. I just stood there, gawking at him like a complete tool.

Erik came forward until he was standing directly in front of me.

"May I?" he asked, expanding his hand toward the countertop.

I nodded dumbly.

"Some things are not that different from the way they used to be. For example, this," he pointed to the flat trowel with the weird square teeth that I'd used to lay down the mortar underneath the tiles. "This is the proper tool for grout."

How in the hell…? I made a face. "I don't understand how that's supposed to work," I muttered, skepticism dripping from voice.

"I could teach you, if you would like."

I bit my lip. Learn from a ghost?

"Okay. Sure. Why the hell not?"

The eyes behind the mask flickered with amusement at my continued cynicism.

"Now, the first thing you need to do is put a fair amount of grout onto the underside of your trowel," he instructed, pausing long enough for me to retrieve the tool and complete the action, "and spread it over these tiles right here."

I must have had a panicked expression on my face, because he let out a small chuckle.

"It won't stick to them. I promise. As long as you hurry," he added with a wry smile.

Taking a deep breath for courage, I slapped the grout down on the countertop, using the trowel to push it around until it covered the span of four tiles. As I did so, Erik moved behind me, peering over my shoulder to inspect my work.

"Yes, just like that," he said softly.

All the little hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. If he had had breath, I'm sure I would have felt it tickling the back of my ear. This was as close as he'd ever been to me, and I wasn't sure how to handle his proximity. I swore I could smell the faint scent of spices and wondered offhandedly if that was how he used to smell when he was alive, until I realized that I had the pumpkin spice candle burning on the stove.

I managed to suppress the anxious peal of relieved laughter before it left my throat. I was being ridiculous.

"Good," Erik continued, completely unaware of the dizzying effect his nearness was having on me. "Use your sponge and wipe the excess of the surface of the tiles."

I lunged for the sponge and did as I was told, happy to have something else to focus my attention on. The grout came up easily enough but stayed in the crevices between the tiles. Every so often Erik would lean over to inspect my work, silently pointing to an area that needed a little bit more. My confidence grew as I repeated the process and slowly but surely, the finished countertop started to emerge.

"Wow. I had no idea…." I gasped, stepping back to admire my work. I was amazed at how easy it had been. It would have taken me days doing it the other way. At that thought, my cheeks instantly reddened again. I glanced back at Erik. "You must think I'm an idiot."

"On the contrary, I've been watching you work in here and I am rather impressed with your knowledge of carpentry. Where did you learn how to do all this?"

"My dad. Home improvement was a big hobby of his, and I spent a lot of my childhood glued to his side, watching. As I got older, he started letting me help with little things here and there. Soon, it became 'our thing' and I've enjoyed it ever since."

"You have learned well."

My cheeked flamed pink for a third time, but this time it wasn't from embarrassment.

XXX

"Christine, you are looking positively radiant today," Dr. Stevenson remarked the next morning. He came over and sat in the empty chair next to me. Alejandra was on vacation, so it was just the two of us and would be all week. "It's been a while since I've seen you smile like this."

Ordinarily, his comments and attempts to pry into my personal life would have made me uncomfortable, but I was in too good of a mood to let it bother me today.

"I finally finished my countertop. And I learned how to do grout," I told him, beaming.

"That's fantastic!" he replied. "Do you have any pictures?"

Nodding, I grabbed my purse from the floor and took out my phone and showed him.

"Impressive," he whistled. "I don't know the first thing about this sort of stuff." He handed the phone back to me. "But you are obviously very proud of your new skill. So, tell me, how did you learn how to do the grout?"

"My friend."

"Well, it looks great." He crossed his legs and laced his fingers over his knee. "And how are you doing, otherwise? It's been a while since we've been able to talk. Did our last conversation help any?"

I stuffed the phone back into my purse and dropped it back to the floor, my thoughts drifting back to that day at the bistro. So much had happened since that afternoon. It seemed like Erik and I had been on a roller coaster of discovery and setback ever since, but we had finally made a breakthrough and it wouldn't have happened without that epiphany.

"Yes," I said honestly. "It helped a lot. Thank you."

"I'm glad."

We heard the door to the outer vestibule open.

"Looks like we're about to get busy again," Dr. Stevenson said, getting up. "I'll let you get back to work. You let me know if you need anything else."

XXX

I was exhausted by the end of the day. Covering both positions was a lot of work, trying to juggle the people on the phone and those in the office, plus working on billing and filing patients' charts in between. The last thing I wanted to do was come home and clean up the mess I left in the kitchen.

The sensible part of me argued that it wouldn't take too much time and then I'd finally be able to use it again. But the lazier side of me pointed out that that meant hauling the boxes of leftover tile, powdered grout, and all the tools though the rain and back out to the shed, and I didn't think I had it in me tonight.

I'd been going balls to the walls for a while now, I reasoned. I deserved a night off.

The lazier side eventually won out. I decided to treat myself by grabbing some Chinese takeout on the way home, and then did something I hadn't done in a long time; I turned off the lights, turned on the gas fireplace, and settled in with a good book.

I must have fallen asleep because I woke sometime later with my e-reader resting flat against my chest. Scrubbing my palms over my face with a sleepy groan, I sat up and tried to gauge how much time had passed.

Erik was standing in front of the hearth, gazing steadily into the flickering flames. The soft light from the fire bathed his shadowy figure in its warm amber glow. Every so often, he would move slightly, and the intricate beading on his cloak would sparkle as it caught the light.

"Penny for your thoughts," I asked quietly.

"I had forgotten how comforting a fire could be." I inhaled sharply as he pivoted around. The orange firelight bounced off his mask and dark hair and illuminated his eyes, turning them the same yellow-gold color as the flames. "Christine and I used to sit in front of the fire after our lessons."

I sat up even further and pulled my legs up, crossing them underneath me. "What were your lessons like?"

At first, I didn't think he was going to answer me. But we had both agreed that in order to get anywhere, Erik would need to openly talk about Christine and his past, no matter how uncomfortable it made him. That being said, I also never knew how far I could push him before he became defensive and irritable.

"It was the one time that we were truly in harmony," he replied. "When we sang, everything else was forgotten. There was only music, and for those few precious moments, we would be as one. One heart, one soul, one purpose."

Their connection when they sang sounded so intimate that I almost felt like I was intruding.

"Is music really that powerful?" I mused, and it wasn't until I saw Erik's eyes narrow that I realized I had said that out loud.

"Oh, yes. Music is one of the purest forms of expression out there. Through music, you can convey happiness, sadness, anger, hope, and so much more."

I thought about some of my favorite songs. Most of them had an underlying theme, but I had never stopped to think about whether or not the artist was really feeling those things at the time they wrote it, or if they just wrote it because their label demanded they put out so many songs in a certain amount of time.

I'm pretty sure Erik could tell I wasn't getting it, because he said, "Haven't you ever felt the music?"

I shook my head 'no.' "What do you mean by feel?"

"Put your heart and soul into it, release control and let it completely overwhelm you."

Wow. Suddenly I felt very self-conscious about my superficial music-listening habits.

Shaking my head again slowly, I replied, "No. I just listen because I like the songs. I've never really spent too much time analyzing it beyond that. I didn't know you could get all that out of it. But then again, I don't sing or play an instrument, either. "I spread my hands. "So maybe I don't have the ability to feel the music like you do." A stray thought popped into my head, and before I could contemplate all the possible consequences of such a question, I asked, "Would you show me?"

Erik looked momentarily taken aback and for a second, I thought my ill-conceived request would be swiftly met with an angry denial. So, I was surprised when his shoulders drooped, and his hands suddenly clenched into fists at his sides.

"I cannot," he answered. "I haven't been able to touch an instrument since I died."

The longing in his voice was evident.

"You could sing," I suggested innocently.

He stiffened and I instantly knew that I had finally crossed the line. "That is one thing I shall never do," he replied curtly. "Those memories are still far too pain. Please. Don't ask that of me again."

"I understand."

I understood, but deep down I was still quietly disappointed. Erik's speaking voice was unlike anything I had ever heard before. I could only imagine how it sounded when he sang. Suddenly I was irrationally angry with Christine, for having robbed him of something he had obviously loved very much.

I immediately felt guilty as soon as I thought that. There were still things I avoided because they reminded me of Ben. I couldn't blame Erik for not wanting to conjure up all those feelings again.

XXX

I was just switching off my computer for the night when Dr. Stevenson came out of his office and locked the door behind him.

"Got any fun plans for the weekend?" he asked. "I mean, now that you've finished your countertop?"

"Uhhh, no. I haven't given it much thought," I said. My heart kicked in to overdrive, ramming against my chest like it knew something I didn't. "You?"

"My brother and his wife are in town. I thought that maybe I would take them out and show them around. Any suggestions?"

"I don't know. It depends on what they're in to, I guess. A club, the movies, a play…." I shrugged. I still couldn't figure out why he was asking me this.

"Hmm, the club sounds like a good idea. They have two young children at home and haven't had a night out in a long time. I bet you they would love a chance to kick back and relax and maybe have a few drinks. Do you favor a particular venue over the others?"

"I like O'Malley's. They're not a club. It's restaurant with a full bar, so you get the excitement of a club, but you can also sit and enjoy a conversation over dinner if you want."

Jake smiled. "That sounds perfect. Thanks for the advice."

"No problem."

He collected his coat and waited while I grabbed my purse and slung it over my shoulder before he led me out of the waiting area and to the exit.

"We'll probably be there Saturday night," he said, catching my eye as he held the outer door open for me, "if you wanted to swing by and say hi."

"I'll keep that in mind," I hedged.

It wasn't until I got to my car that I finally let out the breath I'd been holding. Was I just reading too much in to it, or did my boss just try to ask me out on a date? Or, at the very least, tried testing the waters to see if I was interested.

I was treading into dangerous territory. I really didn't like the idea of dating someone I worked with, especially the guy who signed my paychecks. But I was lonely, and my friends were right; I needed to stop thinking about Ben and move on with my life. And a part of me really wanted to say yes.

XXX

I was still thinking about it the next day.

At present, I didn't have any other plans for tonight, and I wasn't sure if I had the energy to start stripping the varnish from my kitchen cabinets. The idea of taking a break from all the remodeling was definitely appealing.

What could it hurt if I stopped by for a quick drink? It's not like I was committing to anything.

Thankfully I was saved from having to make a decision by the severe lack of food in the house. Grocery shopping was one thing I absolutely hated to do, and so I usually put it off until the last possible minute. However, I had cleaned out the last of my reserves the previous night, so it was either go now or risk starvation.

The traffic lights were out at the intersection of 3rd and Main, causing the traffic to back up. Using the steering wheel for leverage, I pulled myself up and craned my neck to peer over the car in front of me to how fast people were getting through it. Nothing immediately jumped out at me, and so I slumped back into my seat with an aggravated sigh. I hated being stuck in traffic almost as much as I hated grocery shopping, and now it was too late to turn around.

As a way to occupy myself and keep my mind off the traffic jam, I started reading the signs of all the businesses surrounding me.

The McRib was back. Good to know.

BOGO at Tanner's Shoe Outlet. Ooh. I'd have to remember that.

Happy hour from 2:00-4:00 PM at Smoothie Heaven. All smoothies half-price.

The Symphony was playing tonight. Huh. Maybe that's where I should have sent Dr. Stevenson and his family. They were probably the type that would enjoy 'an evening of classical music,' as the sign read.

My fingers stopped tapping on the steering wheel.

I knew someone else who would probably really enjoy that. It was too bad Erik couldn't go.

My heart skipped a beat.

What if he could go? There was nothing saying he couldn't. After all, Danica had told me that he had the ability to follow me if he wanted to. Would he?

There was only one way to find out.

Once I finally made it through the light, I made a right turn and drove toward the Margaret Woodall Center for Performing Arts. It wasn't hard to find a single seat, tucked away in the corner in the very back of the hall. I gave the woman at the box office my credit card, thanked her, and hurried back to my car so I could rush home and get ready.

I didn't waste any time once I got there. Slamming the front door behind me, I raced up the stairs, threw my purse on my bed, and beelined for my closet. I was certain that I still had the Little Black Dress I used to wear on special evenings out with Ben.

There!

Yanking it off the hanger, I held it up against the front of me and hoped to hell it still fit.

XXX

It seemed like in every romantic comedy I watched, there was always a scene where the woman would slowly walk down the stairs in her gorgeous evening gown and the man who was waiting for her at the bottom would be stunned into speechlessness by her ravishing beauty.

That wasn't me.

I was a bundle of nerves, pacing around my small bedroom trying to figure out what in the hell had possessed me to do this.

I should have just gone out to the bar.

Unfortunately, I didn't have time to sit around and argue with myself. The concert started in less than an hour and I still had to drive back there. I needed to decide if I was really going to do this or not.

Smoothing out the nonexistent wrinkles in my black dress, I took a deep breath and forced my feet to take me out of the bedroom.

XXX

I was examining the craftsmanship of the kitchen cabinets when I heard her call my name.

"Erik? Where are you?"

"In the kitchen."

Her crisp footsteps announced her arrival.

"I have inspected these cabinets," I said, my attention still on the cupboards in front of me, "and I have concluded that they are indeed real wood. You should be able to strip and re-finish them with no issues."

"That's great. Ummm…Erik?"

I turned around. Christine was standing in the doorway wearing a tight, off-the-shoulder black dress. The delicate lacy material ended just above her knees, revealing sleek legs that looked twice as long because of the somewhat caged design of the heels she wore.

"You look…." It wasn't very often that I was at a loss for words. "Very nice. I assume you have plans for this evening?"

"Yes." She wrapped her hands around her upper arms self-consciously. "I have something to ask you."

Something about the uncertainty in her tone immediately put me on edge. I folded my arms and waited expectantly for her to continue.

"Do you remember when Danica told me that you could follow me outside the house if you chose to?"

"Vaguely," I replied. Honestly, I had been too upset by my sudden appearance in the shop and the ideas that the medium was planting ideas in her head to give that part much more than a passing thought.

"Well…." She twisted my ring around on her finger. "I'd like you to follow me tonight."

I scanned her profile again and then narrowed my eyes. "Where?"

"It's a…." Christine cleared her throat. "I want it to be a surprise."

Underneath my mask, my expression hardened. "You will find that I am not overly fond of surprises."

What remained of her courage evaporated before my very eyes and she seemed to shrink in on herself. "It's nothing bad, I promise," she stammered. "You're not obligated to accompany me. I just thought…thought you might like to get out of the house. That's all."

She readjusted the strap of her small clutch on her shoulder and then ducked her head, rushing out of the kitchen before I even had a chance to respond, leaving me staring at the empty spot where she had been standing only moments before.

XXX

"What a stupid idea!" I muttered as I climbed into my Jeep and sped out of the driveway. Tears of embarrassment pricked at the back of my eyes, threatening to spill over at any second.

I sucked in a deep breath. I wasn't going to cry. I wasn't. For starters, it would ruin my makeup and make my face all blotchy. And besides that, I knew this outcome was a possibility when I bought that damned ticket in the first place.

Why hadn't I just told him the truth? Being cryptic about it had only put him on edge and made him suspicious of my intentions. My decision to take the coward's way out very well could have sabotaged my own plans.

I considered turning around and heading to O'Malley's or calling the girls to see if they wanted to do something instead. Anything to keep me from going home and having to face Erik.

I suddenly had to laugh at my own ridiculousness. Why was I letting it bother me so much? It's not like I'd asked him on a date and was now suffering the sting of rejection. If I put myself in his place, would I want to go?

Seeing things from his perspective made me feel a lot better. Taking another deep breath, a cleansing one this time, I steered my car toward the concert hall. I'd already spent money on the ticket and gone through the motions to get all dressed up. I might as well go. Who knows, I might even enjoy it.

XXX

The gentle hum of the string section warming up greeted me as I followed the usher into the dim auditorium and found my way to my seat. Occasionally one of the horns would punctuate the steady buzz and every so often someone in the woodwind section would run up and down a scale. I hadn't been to the symphony since grade school, and the sights and sounds quickly brought back a flood of fond memories of simpler times.

The seat I had chosen was located next to the wall in the far back corner on the ground floor. When the usher stopped and gestured down the aisle, I was delighted to discover that a large concrete pillar blocked the view of the seat next to me, basically rendering it unusable.

The overhead lights flickered, and a hush fell over the crowd as people hurried to take their seats before the concert began. A few minutes later the orchestra came to life and the hall was filled with music.

I spent that first part listening carefully to each movement, trying to understand what Erik was talking about when he said I needed to feel the music. It was pretty enough; I'd give it that—although I wasn't really a big fan of classical music—but overall the concept was still lost on me.

After a while my mind started to wander, and I felt myself zoning out. While the orchestra played on in the background, the pieces they were performing started influencing my thoughts. Without realizing it, I began creating scenes in my head that went along with the music I was hearing. And then, almost unconsciously, I started associating bits and pieces with my own life. The wonder and excitement of my budding relationship with Ben. The devastation that I felt when I learned he was cheating on me. During one of the darker pieces, I imagined Erik back when he was alive, and how he must have felt when he tutored Christine. The love, the hope, the pain of rejection….

My chest suddenly constricted.

This was what he meant.

To express feelings through music. To use it as a catalyst to convey emotions that would otherwise fall short and not mean as much if communicated by simple words or gestures. To feel so passionate about something that you felt it in every fiber of your being.

I finally understood it, because now I felt it, too.

No wonder he missed this so much.

A sharp intake of breath sliced right over the music, but surprisingly no one else around me so much as turned their head. Glancing around, I tried to identify the source of the noise and found Erik standing silently against the wall, his eyes riveted to the stage.

How is that even possible? Ghosts don't breathe.

He was completely engrossed, which allowed me to stare at him unabashedly. His fists, which had been clenched at his sides at first, slowly uncurled as his body swayed slightly to the music. His eyes, my main method for judging his thoughts, were closed, and on his lips, he wore a hint of a smile.

I grinned as a feeling of warmth pooled in the bottom of my belly. He was enjoying himself.

He stayed like that through several pieces. By that time, I had forgotten all about the people playing on the stage, content just to watch his reactions to the subtle changes in the music.

The current piece came to an end and Erik turned, searching through the darkness for me. Our eyes met, his questioning at first. I smiled and nodded softly. As realization set in that I had done this for him, they took on a glassy appearance. He blinked and squared his shoulders and when he looked at me again, his eyes were ablaze with unspoken appreciation and gratitude. Still holding my gaze captive, he nodded his thanks and the warmth in the pit of my stomach suddenly burst into flames.

Thank you all for your amazing support and feedback! Every bit of it is treasured! I will be responding to this chapter and last chapter's reviews very soon!