"I'm just sorry I'm messing up our date. We don't seem to have the best of luck with our dates. Between me passing out, your allergic reaction, a canoe ride in driving rain and now my annoying cold, I'm beginning to think someone is trying to tell us something," I contemplated, sitting on my couch.

"They're just trying to test our resilience," he said, tucking a quilt around me from the rack that hung on the wall.

I snorted. "I don't know. I think maybe we're a part of some cosmic joke. Someone is getting a laugh at our expense."

He threw his head back and laughed at my words.

"What?" I asked.

"I kid you not. I had the same fucking thought last night when the sky opened up on us. I don't care though. The cosmic gods can throw as many curve balls as they want at us."

"You're awfully cocky tempting fate like that," I said, trying to keep my voice light, even though the idea scared the shit out of me. I knew the ultimate move fate could use and the outcome would change us both forever.

"I just believe in making my own fate. Life may be a greedy bastard at times, but I'm confident I can handle whatever is thrown my way," he said, grabbing plates and wineglasses from the lone cabinet in my kitchen.

"I didn't have you tagged as an optimist. I would have pegged you for a pessimist for sure," I said.

"Shit, I'm one hundred percent pessimist, but that doesn't mean I don't believe I make my own fate. Let me guess, you're one hundred percent optimistic," he commented, handing me a piece of pizza.

"I used to be. I'm not all that sure I am anymore," I mused, nibbling at my pizza, although I wasn't all that hungry. "I've changed a lot lately. I guess you could call it growing up. Maybe I'm becoming boring and dull in my old age."

"Interesting," he pondered, taking a big bite from his own pizza. "Boring? You're far from boring. You may be stoic, but there's nothing dull about you."

"In what way?" I asked, unnerved that he considered me stoic. To the best of my knowledge, stoic meant someone who endures without complaint. It bothered me a little that he saw me that way despite the lies I had fed him. "Stoic" wouldn't be the word I would use to describe myself. "Liar" was more accurate, but of course, he wouldn't know that about me. I'd always been a truthful person. Really, all the half-truths and lies had turned me into someone I hardly recognized anymore. I'd convinced myself that was my intention all along. After living so long under a microscope with everyone knowing my every secret, the lies I told now were intended to shield me.

"Maybe it's because you're always so upbeat, although every once in a while you get this little hint of sadness in your eyes. Sometimes, it's like you're hiding something or a part of yourself. You quickly distill it, but I've seen it," he answered, grabbing another slice of pizza.

I waited him for him to go for broke and ask what I was hiding. His intuitiveness was dead on, and I couldn't help wondering if it was the reporter in him or just a gift he had. I prepared myself mentally for how I would handle this question, knowing that he of all people could not know the truth. I never wanted him to look at me with pity, or worse yet, run for the hills the moment the big C was mentioned.

The conversation kind of fizzled after that as I continued to nibble on my slice of pizza while he devoured half the pie.

"Not hungry?" he asked as I sat my half-eaten piece of pizza on the coffee table.

"Not really," I answered, settling back against the cushions of the couch. "I know I'm being a downer. You don't have to stay and keep me company," I added, reluctantly.

"Do you want me to leave?" he asked, inquisitively.

"No, but I know it can't be much fun hanging out with a sickie. Besides, aren't we supposed to be sick of each other? I'm new to this whole relationship thing, but aren't you supposed to be giving some speech about how you need your space and that I'm cramping your style with my clingy ways."

"First of all, is it wrong that the sickie thing is turning me on? Secondly, I've discovered there's nothing ordinary about our relationship. I enjoy being with you and there's nowhere else I'd rather be. Plus, I'm not sure you could be clingy even if you tried," he answered, gathering our leftover dinner and plates and depositing them in my kitchen. "Would you like more wine or some water?" he asked, coming back to get my half-empty wineglass.

"Water would be great, but you don't have to wait on me," I said, starting to rise only to have him gently shove me back to the couch.

"Getting you a glass of water won't kill me. Why don't you find something for us to watch," he said, handing me the remote.

"You sure you want me to be in charge of the remote?" I asked, switching on the television. "That means you'll be stuck watching my new favorite chick show that's filled to the brim with estrogen."

"And what show would be?" he quizzed, handing me my glass of water before settling on the couch beside me.

"I've been on a Sex in the City rerun kick now that it's on demand," I admitted. "It's jam-packed with helpful information on the opposite sex," I added flirtatiously, though I kept out the fact that it was Sex in the City that had given me the idea to pick up a stranger in a bar. Of course, the bar scene in New York where the show took place was a far cry from Woodfalls.

"I've seen them all. They're not all that bad, though Samantha is a major slut and pretty obnoxious. I've always liked the brunette the most," he said, snaking an arm around me and pulling me in the crook of his arm. "I forget what her name is though."

"Charlotte," I answered for him.

"That's it, Charlotte," he clarified.

"So, you're telling me you've watched every episode? What about the movies?"

"Those too. Television is my guilty pleasure. My job requires a lot of travel, so I stream a lot of episodes on my iPad."

"What else do you watch?" I asked, switching to the demand channel.

"You name it, I've probably seen it. Especially if it's on cable. Those are edgier and they show boobies and stuff. There's a new one on HBO that's absolutely brilliant about a news channel. There's a few on Bravo and a few other channels I like."

"As long as they have boobies, right?" I teased.

"Heck yeah," he laughed.

"CW shows?" I inquired.

"Sadly, no. I think I'm just too old to relate to teenage shows about vampires or werewolves," he said, shuddering distastefully. "What about you?"

"I'm a bit of a novice. I didn't watch a whole lot of television in college, and I was too preoccupied in high school. I'm kind of just now discovering what I like. I find I'm a bit obsessive when I find a show I enjoy. I'll stay up late watching five and six episodes until I've seen the whole series," I admitted, starting a Sex in the City episode where I had left off.

"That sounds like me too," he said, pulling me snugly in his arms before reaching over to switch off the light on the end table.

We were only halfway through the first episode when I fell asleep, cocooned in his arms.

***

I woke up the next morning in my bed, feeling disoriented. I had no recollection of how I got here, let alone stripping off my clothes. The other side of the bed was empty, but the head imprint in the pillow made it clear I had not slept alone.

"How you doing?" Nathan asked, breaking through my thoughts as he entered my room with a bottle of Advil and a tall glass of water.

"Not bad," I lied.

"Liar," he mocked, reaching over to feel my forehead. "You were pretty warm when I woke up a couple hours ago."

"Did you leave?" I asked, taking in his jeans and flannel shirt that were different than what he had on the previous day.

"Yeah, the cold front everyone was buzzing about yesterday definitely moved in. They're now saying we may get up to a foot of snow."

"Really? It's not even October," I exclaimed. Forgetting I was clad in only my bra and panties, I sat up and just caught the blanket as it slid down exposing my lace bra. His eyes rested on it for a second before returning to my face. I flushed. My confidence from the other night was long gone, and I was unsure what the proper behavior was for what was going on between us.

"Here," he said, handing me a couple of pills.

"Thanks," I said, still clutching the blanket to my chest.

"You're going to have to release your death grip on the blanket to take a drink," he chuckled.

"Nuh-uh," I mumbled, popping the pills in my mouth before reaching for my glass of water with my now free hand.

"You don't have to be shy with me," he said, lifting my chin with his fingers so our eyes met.

"This part is new to me," I confessed.

"It is for me too, but I'm not going to lie, I like seeing you all sleep-rumpled in the morning," he admitted.

"Really?" I asked as a warm feeling that had nothing to do with my fever spread through me. I knew I shouldn't be happy. I should be keeping him at arm's length, but the idea that he wanted to stay made me feel warm and fuzzy inside.

"Really," he answered, leaning in to rub his lips against my cheek. "Hmm, you feel warmer than earlier," he observed, placing his palm against my forehead.

"It's just a cold. I guess that picnic in the rain you planned the other night wasn't the best idea," I said, pulling back slightly to dislodge his hand. I didn't want to make a big deal over my fever.

"Maybe I should take you to the doctor."

"It's just a fever. People get them all the time," I argued, tamping back my panic. I most definitely did not want to go to the doctor.

"I guess you have a point," he said, gently pushing me back against my pillows. "You should at least rest," he said, tucking my blankets around me.

"I should call Fran," I protested, reaching for my phone.

"I kind of already told her," he said, looking sheepish.

"What? When?" I asked.

"I stopped off at her store to stock up on some supplies in case it really does snow. I told her you felt feverish and she told me to tell you to stay home. She seemed quite worried about you. She told me if it snows like they think, that you're to take tomorrow off too, and that it was an order, so no arguing."

"She acts tough, but she's nothing but a softie," I said, trying to sound blasé. I could imagine why she was worried. Fran was the only person I had confided in. I knew my secret was safe with her, though I knew my refusal to see a doctor worried her. I felt bad about the stress I was adding on her already frail shoulders, but not enough to have my fears confirmed. I didn't want hospitals with their endless tests, poking and poisonous toxins. I wanted to do things on my terms this time. It was my decision, and I planned to stick with it even though some doubt had begun to creep in. I was pretty convinced the man beside me had something to do with that.

"I like her. Her crusty attitude is highly entertaining."

"Yeah, I like her too, a lot," I agreed. "I forgot to ask you yesterday if you were able to retrieve everything."

"With the help of some locals. Needless to say, I owe a handful of guys a round at Joe's. Turns out, it was more of a pain in the ass than I thought it would be," he admitted. "Not to mention, I may have been called a pansy when they saw the lanterns and candle remnants."

"I bet. Some of those guys are pretty gruff and set in their ways. It's best to just ignore them," I said, stifling a yawn.

"Oh, I didn't ignore them. I told them at least I got the girl," he said, chuckling as he pulled the drapes closed.

"That'll show 'em," I said, closing my eyes. "Thanks for checking in on me and telling Fran I'd be out today," I added, fighting my drowsiness. I figured he'd be ready to leave now that he had checked on me.

My assumptions were wrong though. I drifted in and out of a fever-induced sleep the majority of the day, and he was always there when I woke. I knew I should send him away. We were breaking every rule I had set, and would only be making things harder for ourselves in the end, but I couldn't find the will to send him away. His presence was oddly comforting as he pushed more Advil and water on me whenever I woke up. By the time the sun was setting, my fever had broken and I was ready to eat the hearty stew he had cooked for me in my kitchen.

"A man who cooks is a rare treasure," I observed, balancing my bowl on my lap as I dunked a hunk of French bread in the thick broth. I was perched on my couch, bundled up in the same quilt from the night before, glad to finally be out of my bed. My relief that my fever had passed was tangible. I wasn't ready for my symptoms to be known.

"Is that the only thing that makes me a treasure?" he said, sitting down and lifting my feet onto his lap.

"Hmmm, I'll have to get back to you on that," I answered, lost in his touch. Who knew getting your feet massaged could be so sensual? It seemed the more time I spent with Nathan, the more items I realized had been solely missing from my list. Even something as simple as having him cook for me had made my chest ache from the sweetness of it. I'd been so focused on experiencing things like jumping off bridges and getting drunk that actual human contact activities had never occurred to me. I was so bent on keeping everyone at arm's length that somewhere along the way I'd shut myself completely off from the things that should have mattered. The fact that I'd actually taken Fran's and Tressa's advice was a relief. Of course, I knew a big majority of the sensations and feelings I was experiencing had a lot to do with the person I was sharing them with.

"Do you like that?" he asked when I sighed with pleasure as his fingers kneaded the ball of my foot.

"It's fair," I answered, giggling when he tickled the bottom of my foot.

"Fair?" he growled, pulling on my foot.

I set my empty bowl on the table. "You can't be good at everything. How ever will we fit your head out the front door," I laughed.

"I'm far from perfect," he said quietly.

"Nobody's perfect," I clarified.

"Not even you?"

"Ha, I'm far from perfect," I snorted.

"Why do you say that? From everything I've heard from Fran and your best friends, you practically float on a gold cloud playing a harp. I quote, 'she's the nicest person you'll ever meet and if you hurt her I'll cut off your balls.'"