"You look beautiful," Liam said softly, his hands moving from my shoulders down my arms.

I look at him in the mirror, his swirling dark form standing behind me like he can shield me from the world.

"I'd rather be in sweats," I sigh, attempting to flatten the wrinkles in the navy blue dress I'd chosen.

This dress is the only real 'nice' thing I own, if I'm honest, and I'd gotten it for a work event I had to drive into the city for. It stops at my knees, flowing from the tight wrap at the waist, and it hugs my form in a way that is appealing without being inappropriate.

"I'd rather you were too," he chuckled, his lips gently finding my neck before whispering, "or nothing at all."

"Liam!" I gasp, the smile unwilling to stay hidden as the blush spreads across my cheeks.

His light chuckle has me ducking my chin to my chest, hiding from his teasing. His presence eases the tightness in my chest at what comes next this evening.

"It's just dinner," I chant to myself as I look for shoes, "I can do this... it's just dinner."

"I hate that you're being manipulated into going to dinner with this guy," Liam grumps, "I've always been bothered when he stops by, but at least you had the others there and the counter between you and him."

I nod, agreeing wholeheartedly.

"It's true," I sigh, pulling my black flats on, "I'm going to try and be nice... try and be casual. I know he doesn't want to talk about the kitchen, so I'll... just try and treat him like I would someone at one of those insufferable holiday parties they make me go in for each year at work. I'll play nice, I'll pretend I don't want to grimace when he breathes near me... and then I'll come home. Maybe he'll lose interest after he realizes he has no chance?"

"Maybe," he murmurs, not sounding convinced, "but at least you're right about one thing, May... it's just dinner. You go, you eat, you come home, and it's over."

Adding softly, "and I'll be with you the entire time."

I smile widely, looking his way from the edge of the bed where I'm sitting. Him being there will help a lot, even if I have to work the entire time to not look at him.

Before I can respond, I hear an enthusiastic knock at the door.

Taking a deep breath, I grab my purse as I walk forward and open the door wearing what I hope isn't a pained smile.

Roger's face is bright when he sees me, but whatever he opened his mouth to say gets stuck as he runs his eyes over me. His eyes linger too long and he makes no move to hide the fact that he's enjoying the view.

"Damn May," he finally says when his eyes make their way back up to mine, his smile morphing into a smirk, "you look good enough to eat."

It takes everything in me not to cringe, my lips parting in surprise at his forwardness.

"Uh... thank you?" I say softly, shifting slightly at the way he's eyeing me, "are, uh, you ready to go?"

"Huh? Oh! Yes. First, these are for you," he says, shaking slightly to clear his stupor, then pulling a bouquet of flowers from behind his back.

They're actually quite beautiful, prominently featuring white flowers, including lilies... which are my favorites.

"Oh," I breathe, my eyes going wide as I reach for them, "they're... stunning."

His grin softens, less creepy and more genuine, as he hands me the flowers and I smell them slightly.

"I'm glad you like them," he says gently, and when I raise my eyes to meet his there's a moment... just for a second... where he looks relieved?

Men like Roger don't get nervous... I must have imagined that.

"Let me put them in water, just... just give me a moment," I rush, turning quickly to the kitchen and pulling a vase down from the top of the fridge. I don't trim them, or even remove the plastic wrapped around them, before I place the bundle in the water. I'll take care of them more properly when I get back.

Turning, I falter for a moment, realizing he's taken a couple steps inside and is looking around curiously.

"Your home is beautiful, May," he says, his eyes finding me after his survey of the space, "it's exactly what I imagined."

"You imagined my home?" I asked, raising my eyebrow and the corner of my lip twitching up.

His face goes blank, and he stutters quickly, "wait, no, that's not... I didn't mean... ahem."

He quickly clears his throat and tries to gather himself, and I realize he might actually be nervous. I can't help smiling at his momentary awkwardness... a side of him that's a bit less... awful.

"Come on," I laugh lightly, "I'm ready to go."

"Of course," he replies smoothly, his façade firmly back in place and his arrogant smirk right back where it had been.

So much for the less awful bit.

I follow him out, locking the door before following him to his very small but likely very expensive car. It's silver, so not quite so audacious as a red hotrod, but it's definitely designed to draw attention.

When he opens the door for me, bowing exaggeratedly, I shake my head at him and slide into the passenger seat. He races around to the driver side, smirking at me before revving his engine and taking off like he's in a drag race. I gasp in surprise, clutching the edges of the seat for a moment, before glaring at him and forcing myself to relax.

He howls out in laughter, his eyes darting to look at me from the road.

"I wondered what it would take to get a real reaction out of you," he said, chuckling.

"Oh? What do you mean?" I breathe, folding my hands in my lap and fiddling with the strap of my purse.

"Well, you're usually pretty reserved," he admitted, shrugging slightly, "you're pretty difficult to read. You don't rile easily or speak too often. Honestly, the most reaction I've ever gotten out of you was when you found out about the funding for that kitchen. You must really love that place."

"I do," I confirm, my voice softening around the edges, "it's actually one of the reasons I chose to move here."

"Oh," he sits up straight, his eyes bouncing my direction again, "would you... leave? If it shut down, I mean."

"I'm not sure," I say, reading his body language and giving him a less-than-truthful answer, "it would be devastating to lose it. Omi and I spent every weekend there for years... without it, I don't have much else that ties me here."

"You have your house," he says quickly, "and your friends here in town. Plus your Omi is buried here."

"It's true, but those things aren't anchors that tie me here, not really. The kitchen is the only real thing that's specific to this town that I'd be unwilling to lose," I tell him, looking away and out the window in case he could see through my lie.

"I didn't realize that," he murmured, "don't worry... I'll keep my word. I'll talk with the committee and see what I can do."

"I appreciate that, Roger," I say softly, "and I know the others - Betty and Martha for sure - appreciate it too. It means a lot to us and the people we help in the city to keep it going."

"Mmm," he hums, drawing my eyes back to him.

I have to admit his tone is less... abrasive... than it usually is when he's borderline harassing me in public. His words are easy and the conversation feels natural... and he feels less fake.

"Why did you ask me to go to dinner with you, Roger?" I ask, unable to hold back.

"I thought it was pretty obvious," he laughed, that smirk sliding across his face and ruining the easiness from only moments ago, "you're a hard one to convince to go on a date."

"You know this isn't a date, right?" I sigh, sitting back, "You seem... nice, Roger... but I'm not looking for a relationship. Like, at all. I'm not interested in dating."

"We can call it whatever you want," he says smugly, his smirk still firmly in place, "but you've been alone since you moved here, May. Surely you don't want to die alone?"

"I want to die happy," I respond honestly, "and I don't need a relationship to make me happy."

"What does make you happy then," he asks, sounding genuinely curious and his smirk fading.

"Peace," I say softly, looking back out the window, "watching the rain from my porch with a cup of tea. A good book that makes me hesitate to turn the light off before I go to bed. Omi's black forest gateau. I don't need others the way other people seem to. I don't hate it, of course, but I don't need it. I'd rather be alone with my peace than with others that take away from it."

"Aren't you ever... lonely?" his voice is tinged with confusion, like he can't possibly understand.

Of course he can't... everyone else was told that to find their 'better half' was supposed to be their whole goal in life. Pop out babies to fill the hole in your heart because without them your life isn't complete. When you go against that, the reaction can be anything from rage at the audacity to pity for not 'understanding what you really want.' I've had these conversations so many times with so many people over the years that it's honestly boring now.

"No," I admitted with a sigh, "lack of romantic partners has never made me lonely. I've never really understood the constant push for people to be in relationships as if being single is the worst thing in the world. I've never wanted a prince charming or a damsel to save, I've never had a crush or infatuation with a stranger, and I've never felt incomplete for being 'unattached.' I just don't think about it the same way as others."

"Did you ever want children?" he asked, turning the steering wheel as we pulled into a parking lot of what looks to be a far more expensive restaurant than I'd ever consider going to.

"Not actively, though I've never been directly opposed to the idea of having them either," I said truthfully, looking up at the large building with small patios extending from the second floor and twinkling string lights decorating the pillars and outdoor seating area awnings.

"Have you ever been?" he asked, his smirk teasing at the corners of his mouth again as he nods toward the restaurant.

"No," I say, appreciating the atmosphere of the place even from the small bits I can see, "but it is beautiful."

"Not as beautiful as you," he delivers smoothly, unbuckling his seat belt and rushing around to open my door.

"Laying it on thick, isn't he?" Liam murmurs from the backseat, and I have to fight very hard to suppress a smile as Roger opens the door and extends a hand to help me out.

Taking Roger's hand, I let him guide me into the restaurant. I tense when he puts his hand on my lower back, but I don't pull away... I need to play nice so he talks to the committee.

"Woah, is it cold in here or is it just me?" Roger suddenly shivers, his hand pulling away from me as he rubs his arms and looks around.

Confused, I look at him prepared to say something... but when I see Liam standing beside him I put two and two together and press my lips together quickly to stop from laughing. Quickly covering my lips with my hand, I cough lightly before shaking my head.

"It doesn't feel cold at all to me. Are you feeling sick?" I ask as innocently as possible, my lips twitching despite my best efforts to keep them under control.

"Nah, must've walked through a cold patch of air or something," he murmurs, his air of confidence slightly rattled.

Shaking his head slightly, he looks at me and grins before gesturing at the podium where the hostess is waiting for us with that 'I've been doing this for hours and I hate it here' smile people in customer service often have.

I nod at her sympathetically, and a moment of understanding passes between us that makes her brow ease just a bit.

"Two for Sawyer," Roger says, giving the lady his signature wide smile.

I watch her face tighten right back up as she faces him, giving him a polite nod and leading us upstairs. The private table out on the balcony, set for two, is text-book romantic and clearly meant for a couple.

"Roger," I ask hesitantly, taking the chair he's pulled out for me, "did you arrange this table on purpose?"

"Of course I did," he chuckles, sitting across from me with a smug look, "these tables have to be reserved."

"You reserved this table after you left the kitchen this afternoon," I asked in shock, "it's a miracle it was available."

The way he laughed made me uneasy, but he just shrugged and didn't give me an answer. I tried to push it out of my mind, but it just sat there as a distraction as the night progressed. The food was incredible, the wine was massively over-priced, and the conversation was honestly not horrible. He even managed to let his jerkoff mask drop by halfway through... and I found myself enjoying his company as we talked about everything and nothing.

And the entire time Liam was there like an anchor, standing beside me.

"I didn't realize you were in IT," he mused, sipping his wine, "I'm horrible with all technology, I may have to ask for your help sometime."

"Oh, don't even try that," I laughed, shaking my head, "everyone knows your father has needed to rely on you for technology for years. I was there during that big banquet with the presentation debacle."

He raised his hands in surrender, laughing easily.

"Okay, okay, you got me. I swear, it's like he doesn't want to learn how to handle the basics on a computer."

"Trust me I get it," I sigh, leaning back with a smirk, "a lot of my calls start with, 'is it plugged in' and the answer is 'no' more than it should be."

"I'm not going to lie, your job sounds terrible," he scoffed, raising an eyebrow, "and you have to drive all the way to the city just to be on the phone with people all day? Sounds like hell."

"I work from home," I shrug, "which actually makes the whole thing worth it. It's annoying, sure, but I get a lot of freedom in exchange."

"You work from home?" he asked, sitting forward curiously and raising an eyebrow, "every day?"

"Yep," I nod, smiling, "it's actually pretty wonderful."

"I thought you were never in town because you were always in the city," he admitted, his brow furrowing, "do you... do you just never leave your house then?"

"I mean of course I do," I laugh, shaking my head, "I'm at the kitchen every weekend. I run errands and have to go grocery shopping just like everyone else. I just don't have to drive to the office each day. I still clock in, have meetings, talk to people - I just do it from my office at home."

"Where you live alone," he says slowly, sitting back with genuine shock on his face, "man, you really are a home body then."

"Definitely," I agree easily, "my home is my sanctuary, and I enjoy being there as often as possible."

"I mean, okay, but you must go out then. With friends or to parties or something? I don't know, are you a D&D geek maybe? Something," he chuckles with a look of confusion tinged exasperation.

He's, quite frankly, looking at me like I've got three heads.

"I have a friend over regularly," I chuckle, shrugging, "but other than that, no. I'm definitely not one for parties or anything with crowds, honestly. I don't enjoy going out or spending frivolously, nor do I want to host barbeques or things like that at my place. I'd rather read or garden than go shopping or partying, and I prefer my own company to others most of the time. Honestly, I'm the least interesting person in town."

"Oh, I certainly wouldn't say that," he argues, tilting his head to the side, "in fact, you're different from most people in a way that intrigues me. I'll admit, I thought you were out in the city a lot. I didn't take you for a partier, that's true, but... I had no idea that you basically never leave home. It does explain why your home was so..."

He twirls his wrist, trying to find the words, and I find myself stiffening wearily that he may say something negative about it... I'm difficult to offend, but I wasn't lying when I said my home is my sanctuary. I don't take kindly to people insulting the space I've painstakingly created for myself.

"Warm," he finishes, and my defensiveness bleeds out of me as surprise takes its place, "like, it's clear you've meticulously arranged, decorated, and maintained the place. I didn't walk outside, but I saw your garden through the patio doors, and it's clear you tend it with a lot of care. It makes sense now, though, why your space is like that... you've created your own little Eden."

I'm blushing softly by the end of his little word vomit, and I find myself turning away to smile. It's clear he truly looked at the space when he was there, albeit briefly, and had more than just cursory thoughts... and I can't help being a bit touched by the observations.

"Well, thank you," I say softly, "it takes effort to keep it the sanctuary it is, and it's nice to see it shows."

"It certainly does," his words are warm and genuine.

He studies me for a moment, his eyes sharp, and I work not to squirm under his scrutiny.

"You know," he starts, his voice low, "you aren't what I expected."

"What did you expect, Roger?" I ask, not accusingly but genuinely curious.

"Quiet. Submissive. Mousey, even," he chuckled, leaning forward, "I've been curious about you since you arrived. You aren't like anyone else I've ever met. You avoid attention, you seem put off by all the things everyone else wants... I thought you'd be insecure, perhaps? Unsure of yourself. You're not, though. It always felt like you were trying to be invisible when you were around others, so I suppose I assumed you lacked confidence."

"Hmm," I hum, raising my eyebrows at why he'd want to go to dinner with someone he saw that way, "well, you're not entirely wrong. I do try to be invisible around others, but not because I'm insecure or afraid. I simply don't like to be bothered by the expectations or drama of others."

"See, that, right there," he laughs, sitting back, "what I just said would have offended most people. You? You just lean right in, dissect it, respond honestly, and move on. Does nothing bother you?"

"What others think of me doesn't," I chuckle, shrugging as I sip on my wine, "if that's how you saw me, that's how you saw me. What others see and think tends to be more of a reflection of them than me, so why would I be offended?"

"That sounds like an amazing way to live," he sighs, his eyes still fixed on me with an intensity that makes me shift uncomfortably, "I envy it, honestly."

"Why would you be so persistent to take me to dinner if you thought I was... mousey?" I ask curiously, tilting my head slightly, "it doesn't seem like a quality you'd be drawn to."

"Oh? And what do you think I'm drawn to?" he asks, his smirk spreading across his face.

"I've been around long enough to have no delusions, Roger," I scoff, "you have a reputation that proceeds you. You enjoy living a high life that gets you a lot of attention. When you aren't closing business deals and shaking hands while posing for the press, you party openly. None of the women you've led on your arm are anything less than extravagant. Me? I'm plain. Boring. You admit you thought I was insecure and mousey. I'm the opposite of every woman I've seen you with."

His smirk fades, though he holds my gaze.

"I wanted to enjoy my life," he says after a long moment, his voice low and his eyes dark as he looks at his plate, "and I have. I don't regret it, the way I've lived... but I'm also getting older. In our 20s we think we'll be young forever and nothing can touch us, and I lived that way for sure. Now, though? I'm going to be 36 soon, and I want something... real. Something more than late nights at the office, one night stands, and hangovers. My businesses are successful, my life is stable, and even with my more laid back personal life I'm managed to achieve a lot in my life. I don't have anyone to share it with, though, and I hadn't met someone I was interested in enough to try."

I feel my brow furrow, not sure how that has anything to do with him asking me to dinner.

"Do you know what it's like," he sighs, throwing his hands up in frustration, "when every person that shows interest in you only does it because they want something? When I was a kid, people wanted favors from my father. When I expanded my enterprise, people wanted my money and connections. No one, and I mean no one, comes to me without an agenda. It makes it hard to trust people."

"You don't have any friends?" I ask quietly, my face softening, "like, real friends?"

"No," he grumbles, "I used to think I did, but I've learned the hard way I really don't."

"I may not be interested in dating," I say after a long moment, "but if you want someone that doesn't care about who you are to just talk to sometimes? I can be a friend. I'm not a good friend... I'm not good at any of the things people expect friends to do. I can listen, though, and I can be honest with you. It's not much, and it may not be what you hoped for when you asked me to dinner tonight... but maybe it can be a step toward something a bit more real."

"What if I wanted you to be more than a friend?" he asks seriously.

No creepy smirk. No pretense. No bullshit. And honestly, I appreciate that - he's less despicable now that he's dropped the façade.

"You don't know me, Roger," my smile is small but genuine, "friendship is the best I can offer you."

"You sound like you're negotiating a business deal," he laughs lightly, shaking his head and leaning back with a sigh.

"You manipulated this dinner with a threat veiled as a choice," I shrugged, no malice in my voice, "we may be from different worlds, but I can understand enough to speak your language."

He doesn't flinch but I can see he's slightly uncomfortable at my words.

"I planned to walk away after this hoping you'd keep your promise, then probably trying to avoid you, " I admit, chuckling, "But, it turns out when you drop the pretense you're not actually terrible company."

Adding when his eyes go wide, "I'm an honest person, Rog. I like to think it's my best feature."

"It might be," his voice is soft, his eyes complex as he studies me, "I'll admit this isn't the way I saw tonight going, but I'm not disappointed."

"You know," I sit back and look at him seriously, "same."

We finished dinner with easy conversation, and dessert was amazing. When he stopped acting like a pompous ass, he wasn't a bad guy and I found myself genuinely enjoying the rest of the evening.

Walking up to my front door, though, I couldn't wait to get out of my dress and relax.

"May," Roger drew my gaze as I reached out to unlock my door, my hand hovering mid-action, "thanks, for tonight."

The way he rubs the back of his neck, looking anywhere but me, tells me he wants to say more... so I wait patiently, giving him the space to do so.

"I'm sorry," he blurts, meeting my eyes, "for the stuff with the kitchen. I'll... I'll fix it. They won't pull the budget."

"Thanks, Rog," my smile is real, spreading across my face quickly, "and uh, maybe next time there are other methods for getting someone to go to dinner with you?"

"Yeah, uh," he chuckles awkwardly, "I'm not very good at rejection, it seems... maybe... maybe not my best move."

"No," I laugh, shaking my head, "but I forgive you. This time."

He drops his hands, studying me for a long moment before a real - not creepy, not weird, not predatory - a REAL grin splits his face.

"You really are quiet special, May," he says, looking at me as if seeing me for the first time, "and I really enjoyed tonight."

"I did too," I say honestly.

Reaching into my purse, I pull out my phone - unlocking it before handing it to him.

"Text yourself," I say, "I'm shit at the friend thing, so here are the rules. Call if it's an emergency. Text and don't expect immediate replies for everything else. Temper your expectations, but... I'm around. If you need a friend."

He pauses for only a moment before taking my phone and doing exactly what I asked, handing it back with a chuckle.

"Expectations tempered," he says with a smile, then after a long, lingering look, he turns and heads back to his car.

He pauses just before he gets in with a last glance and a smile before hollering, "Night, May."

When I finally lock the door behind me, hearing his car drive away, I finally let out a long breath and slump up against the door.

"That was... interesting," Liam murmurs from nearby, and I look up to see his form standing in the center of the living room.

"It was," I breathe, kicking my shoes off and tossing my purse on the table, "but it wasn't as awful as it could have been."

"It wasn't," he agrees, "and I didn't even loathe him by the end."

I laughed out loud, nodding as I unzipped my dress - removing it as I walked into the bedroom to put on my much-needed pjs.

"Same," I chuckle, "even if his methods are... well, they left a lot to be desired, didn't they?"

"Understatement of the century," he grumbled.

"At least the soup kitchen is safe," I breathe, flopping down on the couch, "he's a man of his word, if nothing else."

"Do you really think he'll walk away," Liam asks, his voice hesitant when he sits beside me on the couch.

I want to let my mind spiral on the science of how he can do that... but I don't let my thoughts dwell on it.

"I hope so," I sigh, leaning my head back and pulling my knee to my chest, "he seems... lonely. Maybe even a little desperate? But he doesn't seem like a slimeball or anything. I was just an unknown he'd developed an interest in, and now I hope his curiosity has been satisfied."

"Oh, I think his curiosity has definitely been peaked," Liam chuckles, "but I'm hoping he's respectful of your wishes."

"What do you mean," I ask, furrowing my brow when I turn to look at his swirling, misty form.

"You were charming and wonderful this evening, May," Liam said, making me frown slightly, "and it's clear that whatever his goals were at the beginning, he actually left with real interest in you."

"Uh... I hope not?" I grimace, shaking my head, "I don't date. I'm not good at relationships."

"You've said that," he mused, sitting back and crossing a leg over his knee, "though you do just fine with me."

"You're a... well... a phantom," I say awkwardly, fiddling with my clothes, "it's... different."

"I suppose it is," he laughed, "not exactly traditional, is it?"

"No," I admit with an easy smile, "it's better." 

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