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behind the mask he shows to others. A person who is just as lonely as she is. With a timid motion, she reaches out her hand and takes the wine.
    “Thank you.” The smile still rests on her lips. “My name is Emma.”
    “I’m Eric.” The smile on his face also refuses to fade.
    They stand silent in each other’s company, and then Emma makes a decision she may either come to treasure or regret. She’s not sure which, and in this moment, she doesn’t care. “Would you like to come in?”
       
    Eric thought she would never ask. Light shines out from the hall onto the porch, illuminating Emma’s silhouette. She looks like an angel. Such innocence, such purity. Her kindness exudes in waves, and he soaks it up from her like she’s the sun. Something warm and inviting, in spite of all of this cold. A heavenly smell wafts through the doorway and makes his stomach convulse with hunger.
    “Yes. I’d like that.”
    She moves aside as he walks into her home as if he lives there, entering her kitchen.
    “Are you hungry? I was just making dinner, if you’d like some.”
    “I’m starving.” Eric sits down at the table, completely at ease in this unfamiliar place. The chair feels like it was made for him and he lets himself get wrapped up in the aromas of this warm, dry kitchen.
    Emma brings a corkscrew and one wine glass to the table.
    “Just one?” He gestures toward the glass. He uses the edge of the corkscrew to remove the foil from the neck of the bottle.
    “I don’t drink,” she says.
    There’s apprehension in her eyes, like she’s a child and he’s offering her ice cream before she’s eaten supper. She’s avoiding his gaze. Eric has noticed this is a habit of hers. He stops what he’s doing, stands, and tilts his head until she looks up at him.
    “You can’t make me drink alone.” His voice is sensual and deep.
    Emma’s riveted to each word he says, each move he makes. “No, I guess that would be rude.” She backs away from him and reaches up into the cupboard to grab another wine glass.
    Eric admires the curves of her body. The crucifix that rests above the window catches his eye, and he casts his gaze away from her, not wanting to defile the sanctity of this haven with his dark debauchery. Eric pops the cork and fills each glass, and Emma raises hers. Her hand trembles and Eric smiles as she makes a toast.
    “To neighbors,” she says.
    “To neighbors.” Eric clinks his glass against hers.
    They sit down to eat and Emma studies the way his muscular body overwhelms her small table. She can’t remember the last time a man sat here. He looks out of place and perfect, at the same time. It makes her feel safe in a way she has missed.
    He tears into his food and sips his wine. His damp clothes still caress his body in ways that Emma finds too pleasing. She looks away and spoons some gravy onto her plate. Eric fills her glass again before she can say no. It’s clear she’s not the only one who has missed sharing a meal.
    “This wine is very good, thank you.”
    Eric holds the glass beneath his nose and breathes in the bouquet. “I couldn’t decide between this or the Burgundy.”
    Emma watches as he sips and savors the flavor. “You know a lot about wine?”
    “It’s a little obsession of mine.” He smiles.
    Emma sips in the same manner he did, searching for whatever it is that he finds so appealing.
    “Do you own this home?” Eric asks.
    “No, well, I grew up here. My parents spilt up when I was in junior high. I moved away with my mother, and my father stayed here.”
    “And where is he now?” Eric swallows another forkful of meat.
    “He’s traveling the country with his wife, Ann. They bought a motor home when he retired. They haven’t lived here in years; no one has . . . until I came back.”
    “Well, that explains the disrepair.”
    She flinches, and he knows he said the wrong thing. “I didn’t mean . . . I mean this is such a large house . . .”
    “It’s