▪ Chapter 3 ▪

Tires ground on gravel, the car bouncing every time a wheel dropped into a damp pothole. Black trees waved over the county road, almost obscuring the dying afternoon sun. The ending refrains of "The Show Must Go On" faded away as the wind caught a small twig and carried it in front of the car.

Rocks shifted as she turned the wheel, rounding a corner and slamming on the brakes, a washed-out bridge laying immediately in her path. Shifting the car into park, she clambered over the seats and out of the car, walking over to the edge of the drop, a creek rushing twenty feet below her.

"Well, this is just dandy." She muttered to herself. "Now how am I supposed to get there. Did I miss the driveway?" Glancing behind her, she shook her head and stepped away from the precipice, covering her eyes to remove the dizzying image from her head. "No, I couldn't have. It must be beyond." Surveying the area, a small foot path, leading to a narrow foot bridge across the water caught her attention.

Glancing once at her car and considering the possibly that her phone might be able to find a connection, she pressed the lock button and eased down the traitorous path, several rocks and branches reaching the bottom long before she did.

Heels digging into the soft earth, she finally reached the foot bridge and mounted the wooden structure, pleased to hear no creaks and only one groan from it. Inches beneath her feet, the brook rushed, slapping against stones and spraying her white boots with a thin layer of water. A fish swam past her vision, his silver sides catching the dying sunlight filtering through the overhanging trees.

Confident in the boards beneath her feet, she advanced over the foot bridge and ascended the lightly-worn path leading up the opposite bank. Using a few low branches, she pulled herself onto the top and looked down the road, seemingly unending.

"Well, I've gotten this far. I might as well go on." She whispered to herself, hooking the long strap of her purse cross her body and striding onto the gravel road. Rocks crunched and shifted beneath her feet and several times, pretty stones caught her eyes but, the steady ticking of her mental clock reminded her she would be late if she didn't press forward without distraction.

At least, she wouldn't have to exercise.

▪▪▪▪▪▪

The clock chimed five. Then dinged to remind him of the half hour. Repeatedly, he logged into his Friend Shop account to check messages, but only Beauty's profile picture greeted him, smiling prettily from the glass prison.

The page refreshed several times, each time showing nothing except his last message accepting her excitement for the evening. Has she changed her mind? After racking his brain and rereading her biographical page in search of an answer, he realized how little he knew of the girl visiting him.

Does she have a boyfriend? Are her parents still alive? How many friends does she have? What sort of work does she do? What are her interests?

No answers surfaced to his questions.

His fingers trembled despite the addition of an extra dose of morphine that morning, a sedative he had hoped would calm him. His mind whirled with possible reasons for her unexplained absence. Her boyfriend surprised her with something she couldn't turn down and she forgot about me.

Refresh. Nothing.

She couldn't find my house and gave up on everything.

Refresh. Nothing.

Her car crashed and she is stranded.

Refresh. Nothing.

Her car crashed and she is dead!

Shaking his head violently, he pressed fingers tips to his temples and gasped several deep breaths. I was so close! So close. She gave me something to look forward to in this life. I had a purpose during this week. Tears hung in the corners of his eyes and he turned away from the computer. The delicious smell of the prepared meal, which had sparked hunger in him, turned his stomach.

Dress shoes clicking against the hardwood, he trudged towards the kitchen, intent on destroying his masterpiece.

Ding. Dong. Ding. Dong.

Pausing mid-stride, he turned down a hall, his front door glowering at him and concealing the identity of his caller. The shadow shifted on its feet and brushed something away from its face. His breath caught in his throat and his feet turned to lead.

While his throat spasmed, the shadow rang the doorbell again before fidgeting. Gathering what little remained of his courage, he approached the door, shying away as if the door handle intended to bite his hand if he dared to attempt to turn it.

Hand connected with brass and the door swung wide on perfectly oiled hinges.

A vision in night blue turned to face him.

Her profile picture, a mere headshot, hadn't done her justice. The night blue brought out blue eyes peeking from behind golden hair. The dress, an antique, accented every sweep of her elegant figure and ending at her knees, hinting at the dancer's legs concealed then on by white boots.

His gaze shifted to her eyes and her face, searching the perfect mouth and inquisitive eyes for any hint of discomfort or fear.

Surprisingly, he found none. If anything, embarrassment rang through her blushes.

"I'm so sorry I'm late!" She exclaimed, fisting her hands at her sides and periodically glancing at him before looking away. "The bridge was out and these boots aren't made for walking." His eyes followed hers down to the white boots, slightly muddy from the walk.

"Please...think nothing of...it." His voice caught in his throat as he stepped away from the doorframe. That silvery lilt nearly robbed him of the power of speech. "Do...come in." His fingers frantically tugged at the edge of his dress coat.

"Thank you." She breathed, brushing the mud from her boots onto his doormat. "I hope I haven't kept you waiting too much." A blond cowlick fell into her face and she dug around in her purse for a click to tuck it back.

"Not at...all." Surely she heard his heart pounding in his chest and his lungs heaving for breath? Blessedly, her eyes drifted over the ornate hallway, her pretty mouth dropping open as she turned in a circle.

"Your house is so beautiful!" She exclaimed, shooting him a kindly smile, unware of the bolt of delight and nerves that shot through him.

"Thank...you. I built it...myself." A hint of pride escaped and he sought to take the words back, desperately hoping it hadn't appeared as if he fished for complements.

"That's amazing! You compose and do architecture. I'm impressed!" Heart souring, he bowed slightly, acknowledging her praise, before shifting the subject to something else. The mask proved essential to hiding his momentarily giddy expression.

"Thank you...again. If you would follow...me. Supper is...ready."

"Oh! Is that what I'm smelling? It smells wonderful but I don't recognize it. What is it?" She asked, following him and fiddling with the strap of her purse.

"Matelote. It is a dish from...Normandy. I learned it as...a child." Too much! Too much! His brain screamed at him to stop dolling out undesired information. Though, a smart person would have picked up on the lingering French accent and a truly brilliant person could have narrowed it down neatly.

"I shall look forward to it. I've never had it or even heard of it before." A weight of doubts dropped onto his shoulders.

"I hope it is...worthy."

"Oh, don't worry about that." Beauty consoled him, laughing lightly as they entered the kitchen.

Moments of silence ensued as he dished out the dinner and served it in the dining room.

More moments elapsed as wine bottles clinked against champagne glasses.

At long last, when he had set up everything and taken a place at the opposite side of the table, four chairs' distance away from her, she whispered a hushed thank-you and fixed her eyes on the meal. He heard the catch in her voice and regarded her, noting a decided drooping in her facial expression included with a nervous twitching of the eyes.

"Is something wrong?" If the meal displeased her, he would make something else! Anything to bring back the smile he'd momentarily seen in the entryway.

"No..." She trailed off before slumping her shoulders. "Yes." Panic flooded his body, turning his blood cold as he turned to face her completely, prepared at all costs to exterminate the problem but her words halted him. "I really have no idea what I'm doing." A deeper blush stained perfect cheeks as she found the silverware far more interesting than the floor or his face. "I've never done this before."

"I...I haven't either." He confessed, studying the fish and onions swimming in his plate. "You're the..." He stopped, biting his tongue and refusing to go on.

"The...what?" She inquired, studying him intently beneath blond eyelashes.

"The first person...I've spoken with...in ten...years. I have no idea what I'm doing either." Both shared an awkward chuckle before an idea dawned on Christine.

"Perhaps we should sit closer?"

"Ah...yes...perhaps that would...work." He replied, rising to move his seat nearer hers but she raised a hand to stay him. Quietly, china clicked against silverware and feet shuffled across hardwood, followed by a scraping of chair legs and she sat next to his left arm, her hands almost brushing his black gloves.

Never had leather felt so constricting.

Muscles contracted beneath the clean leather and tendons tightened. Blood thundered in his ears, nearly blocking out all sounds. Harsh breaths escaped with every spasm of his lungs. Controlling the trembling in his extremities, he picked up the fork and stabbed a chunk of fish, slipping the piece under his mask, grateful for the shadows in the room.

"Tell me about yourself. You mentioned you were in France as a child?" Her eyes avoided the awkward exchange between his mask and the fork and focused on her meal.

"Ah...yes." He set the fork aside, ashamed of having forgot the difficulty that eating presented. Maybe she won't notice if I don't eat anymore? "I was...born there."

"That is so neat! What is France like? I have always wanted to visit but things always happened once we had saved the money." For a long moment, her blue eyes lingered on the fork and his folded hands.

"It's...very nice. The summers and springs are beautiful. The hills and meadows are filled with flowers. Snow still caps some of the mountains and keeps the streams flowing cool and clear." He commented, tucking his hands beneath the table and fiddling with the cloth napkin draped over his lap. Keep everything general. Don't tell her your history. Despite the shadows gathering with every moment as the sun lowered behind the trees, he felt as if a spotlight had locked onto him, illuminating every emotion, every thought.

"Sounds wonderful." Her voice adopted a dreamy tone as her spoon paused above the dish.

"Tell me...about...yourself." Anything move the subject from me.

"There isn't much to know. I'm a very boring person." Her eyes drifted down, blushes creeping up her neck as she took another bite.

"No, please tell. I'm sure you are...more interesting than...I." Laughter bubbled inside her and escaped her mouth, bringing light into her eyes as she playfully swatted his arm, unware of the freezing of his heart and twisted expression hidden beneath the white porcelain.

"Hardly! You compose music and build beautiful houses. I can't do anything. I work at a diner and never went to college." Struggling to ignore the warmth spreading through his arm from the brush of her fingers, he searched her comment for something with which he could begin a conversion.

"Why did you never go to college?" He asked, unsure if he had broken the rules of propriety by inquiring. If some dark family secret or painful memory haunted that choice, he would never forgive himself for reminding her of it.

"My mother died." I will never forgive myself. "I was a month away from going to college. When she passed, I couldn't afford it so I went to work. I was hoping that one day I might be able to go back. You know, save some money and try again."

"I'm sorry." He replied, deciding an Iron Chair would prove a more comfortable seat than his current position. "I...should not...have asked."

"It's okay." She replied, finishing the last of her meal. "It was an honest question deserving of an honest answer. Besides, it is something a friend would know." A smile echoed across her face, blue eyes caught brilliantly in the last rays of the dying sun. He inclined his head toward her, accepting her declaration and hoping his excitement at her remark didn't show.

Even after several social blunders, she still wanted to be friends.

"Are you finished? Or would you like seconds?" Declining with a shaking of her head, she stood up, taking the plate with her and said,

"I'm finished. Here, let me help with the dishes." Gasping, he shook his head and bounded to his feet, taking the plate from her while carefully avoiding any physical contact.

"No! Let me." He gathered them up and carried the dirty plates and silverware into the kitchen, depositing them in the sink. Following him, she retorted,

"But, I want to! It isn't fair that you do all the work. You made dinner, I'll clean up. Show me where the aprons are." She requested, folding her hands across her stomach and lifting up off the heels of her feet. He opened his mouth to retort but the hopeful look in her eyes and excited smile halted him. Wordlessly, he turned to a drawer and withdrew a simple black apron.

"I am more than willing to do them." He tried once more, retaining the apron in an attempting to relieve her of the burden. Never had he intended for her to do any sort of manual labor while visiting his house. If anything, she had to be treated as a goddess, worthy of worship for even considering remaining in his presence.

"And I want to." She snatched the apron from him, fingers brushing the back of his hand and leaving sparks in their wake. His breath caught in his lungs, a problem growing increasingly larger the long she remained in his home.

Watching her tie the strings behind her back and roll up her sleeves, he fiddled with his hands, shifting uncomfortably on his heels. Black-gloved fingers coiled and clinched before releasing. Water flowed into the basin, building bubbles in the stainless sink. A nightjar's call reverberated in the small kitchen, the tiny bird's tree branch just outside the window, the perpetual two-tone call spaced in irregular patterns.

"Would you appreciate some music while you work?" He suddenly asked, finding a way to make himself useful despite her sudden hijacking of his kitchen.

"Oh, yes! I love music. My father used to play the violin and I loved to listen to him play for hours and hours. He never was particularly good at it but we always had so much fun that we never minded the mistakes." For a few moments, she reminisced before turning to face him, soap suds falling off the tips of her fingers into the dish water.

"If you wish...I could play...the violin?" While truly the instrument of his choice, he could find another that would satisfy her desire for music if memories would be too strong with every pull of the bow.

"That would be wonderful! I haven't heard the violin in so long. Thank you!" The joy dancing her blue eyes gave him the courage to retreat from the kitchen and fetch the black violin and its bow. Shaking feet carried him back to her, still scrubbing away on the china, intent on making it sparkle.

"Anything in...particular you would like...to hear?" He asked, tucking the violin beneath his chin and suspending the bow over the strings.

"Maybe Paganini Caprice No. 1?" She turned to him hopefully. "Do you know it? I used to have a CD with it on it and I would beg Dad to play it but he always said it was too hard and he couldn't learn it."

"Yes, I know it well." He took a deep breath and attacked the lively piece with great vigor. His fingers skipped and pressed the strings while the bow hummed through the air. Lifting his eyes from his flying fingers, he watched her. Lips curled peacefully, her eyes danced with the music and her hands flew through the washing.

Soon, a neat row of two plates, two forks, and two spoons adorned the dish drainer. The piece slammed to a halt just as she draped the wash rag over one edge. Spinning to face him, she enthusiastically clapped.

"That was beautiful! So beautiful! Even better than the musician on my CD. I've never heard –" Seven chimes of a clock ended her outflowing of praise and wiped away some of the happy smile. "Oh, I got to go. I have to work at six tomorrow morning and I'll need my sleep." Her shoulders dropped as nimbly untied the apron strings and folded the black cloth, setting it aside on the counter.

"I understand." He replied, setting his violin aside with greatest care. His fingers trembled, reminding him that a dose might be necessary soon. And, his email remained unchecked for the past three days. One couldn't abandon one's profession for so long. "Will you..." His voice trailed off, quiet tones fading, hands clinched in front of him and eyes refusing to meet hers.

"Will I what?" She asked, gathering her purse from the counter.

"Will you...want to..." He paused, gathering his courage, "come back?" Gold eyes met blue. How many times had he broken social rules? Not to mention failing to eat with her when he had invited her over for dinner. She won't want to return. It was so nice of her to endure my presence for this evening. But, she won't want to come back.

"Of course. If you'll have me. I had a wonderful evening and we could probably become great friends." Something uncurled inside his chest, spreading warmth through his entire body. Her boots struck the floor twice, drawing her near enough to grasp his frozen hands inside her hot ones.

"I..." All logical thought drained from his brain the moment her bare skin touched his gloves. Warm. Soft. Curved. "Yes." He finally choked out, unsure if the words matched hers.

"Wonderful! Now, I better go. I'll see myself out. Thank you so much for the music and for dinner! Message me and we can plan another meeting!" She called over her shoulder as she walked from the kitchen, leaving him with hands still burning from her touch.