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Christine’s shift was over. She’d already clocked out, and she was free to spend the rest of the evening however she wished. Usually, she’d either hang with Meg or Raoul in the kitchen for a while as they worked until the end of their shifts, but today both of their shifts had already ended before hers. When that happened, she typically just went home right away, glad to be away from the Hotel Garnier and maybe take a long soak in the tub to ease her aching joints. Joints shouldn’t ache like this at just barely twenty; but that was life when you were on an understaffed team of hotel housekeeping.
She glanced at her wristwatch. The next bus that could take her back to her apartment would be arriving at the stop down the block in five minutes. There wasn’t another one for a half an hour. She chewed at her lip, considering. Instead of leaving out the front of the building as she normally did—the shortest route to the bus stop—she turned and went out the back door that exited to the parking lot. She tried not to get her hopes up, but it was difficult when she was looking forward to something like this.
Sure enough, she was right. He was there.
Erik was leaning against the cracked stucco wall of the hotel, staring out across the almost deserted parking lot and smoking a cigarette. He glanced at her as she came to stand next to him, leaning against the walk herself, trying to ignore the dampness of it. It had been raining earlier, but the rain had cleared, giving way to the slight humidity that still hung in the air.
He didn’t greet her, but she didn’t mind. She could tell he was deep in thought, though about what, exactly, she wasn’t sure. It wasn’t often the hotel had guests that stayed as long as he did—two whole weeks now—nor did they usually make such an impact on her.
From the side she was standing on, she couldn’t even see the strange white mask that covered half of his face. Her heart sped up a little at just the sight of him, and her dry mouth searched for words to say.
“Can I have one?” She asked, staring at the cigarette in his hand. Maybe he would light it for her. Maybe he’d even start it for her, taking that first puff before handing it to her, letting her put her lips on something that had been, for one brief, glorious second, in his mouth, too—
“No,” he said flatly.
She shifted from foot to foot, looking away from him, out to the parking lot.
“I’ll pay you back,” she tried. She was tight on funds, but how much could a pack of cigarettes even cost? She’d gladly pay it, for him.
“It’s not about money.” He scoffed a round an exhale of smoke.
She cast a forlorn sidelong glance up at him.
“What is it, then?”
“You don’t smoke.”
“I could start.”
“Cigarettes are bad for you. They’ll ruin your voice.”
“That doesn’t stop you,” she pointed out.
“My dear, I hate to break it to you, but when you start making life choices because they’re what I would do, you’ve hit rock bottom, I’m afraid.”
She opened her mouth to protest, but with one look from him she stopped.
They stood in the quietness together, saying nothing. The birds were chirping as the sun was setting, proof that there were still worms to be found no matter how late it was. She marveled, not for the first time, at how she felt here with him. She knew Meg’s warnings, that a man so obviously rich staying at their crummy little hotel meant he was probably a criminal on the run, that he could even be mafia, but that didn’t vibe with the feeling in her heart when she was around him. She felt safe here with him, and she thought that was a pretty big feat considering she was standing in the back alley of a hotel at dusk with a stranger. But he didn’t feel like a stranger, not to her.
“Is your motorcycle—“ she began breaking the silence after a few moments.
“It’s here,” he cut her off.
They both stared at the handful of cars in the parking lot. There was no motorcycle to be seen, but that was how Erik wanted it.
“Would you take me on a ride?” She asked wistfully.
“No,” he said, a finality to his tone.
“How come?”
“It’s too dangerous.”
“It can be a short ride,” she pleaded.
“You don’t have a helmet.”
“I don’t need one.”
He gave her a look of warning.
“You can’t ride in a skirt,” he said.
Christine hung her head. She was still in her maid uniform, a dress, and she had no other clothes to change into, not at the hotel.
Erik bit back a sigh when he saw how dejected she looked yet was still by his side. Anyone with more sense would have taken the hint that no cigarette sharing or motorcycle riding was happening and left. He wasn’t sure what it was that was wrong with her exactly—extreme naivety? No sense of self preservation?—but whatever it was it caused her to just want to be near him in any capacity. It was foolish on her part, but he felt bad for her. After all, who did not pity the moth who was drawn too close to the fire?
He took one last drag off his cigarette before flicking it to the ground, rubbing it out with the sole of his fine Italian leather shoe.
“Come on,” he said, pushing off the wall and opening the door to the hotel.
She followed him without question, even down the hallway and to his room, and her simple obedience made his heart ache for her.
She was curious what he was leading her to his room for, even more so when he opened the drawers of the dresser and pulled out a pair of black slacks. He held them out to her.
“Huh?” She asked, confused.
“Well you can’t ride a motorcycle in a skirt, can you?” He said, raising his visible eyebrow.
Her heart skipped a beat.
“Oh! Oh, um—it’s all one piece.”
“What?”
“My uniform,” she explained apologetically. “I know it looks like a blouse and a skirt but it’s all one dress, and if I take the bottom part off, the top part comes off too—“ her face turned red.
The expression slid off his face as he glanced down her body involuntarily, then he turned and pulled a shirt out of the dresser too, handing it to her.
“I’ll just be outside,” he said, his voice slightly tight as he pulled his helmet out from the wardrobe. “Join me when you’ve changed.”
He stood outside the door, waiting for her. He wanted to give her the utmost privacy, the ability to lock the door between them as she changed clothing, but somewhere in his mind he knew without a doubt that she hadn’t even bothered to lock it. The thought made a bead of cold sweat run down his back at the possibilities, but he refused to be the one who put her in danger—just like he had refused to be the one to put her on a motorcycle. He squeezed his hands around the helmet, trying to push away his accusing thoughts, trying to push down the reality that the people chasing him wouldn’t care whether or not he’d slept with her, only that they were close regardless and that made her a target no matter what. Why was he trying so hard to abstain from something that made no difference in the end? Because he felt it was right?
The door opened behind and he turned to look at her. He hadn’t quite been prepared to see her in his clothes, or at least, not fully prepared for the snare of lust that had encircled him at the sight of her beaming up at him as she wore his clothes. Oddly enough, this was what reminded him of his promise to himself, the reason for not wanting to invite her to his bed—because with any luck he was leaving next week, and he would never see her again after that, and they would have to have a conversation about that before they dove any deeper into whatever this relationship was and he knew that conversation would involve having to tell her things he didn’t want to tell her, because right now she looked at him like he hung the moon, and afterwards—she wouldn’t.
“Are you ready?” He asked softly.
“Yeah!”
The clothes were unlike anything she’d ever worn before. They were made of such fine material, the type she hadn’t even dared to look at in the store lest she be reminded of all the things she couldn’t afford. They also didn’t fit her very well, which shouldn’t have been a surprise—the top of her head only barely came up to Erik’s shoulder, and she certainly had more curves than the man who’s frame was reminiscent of a scarecrow.
She’d had to roll the cuffs of the pants several times and affix them with safety pins, holding her breath as she sucked in her belly to fasten the fly and button, praying she didn’t end up ripping them in an embarrassing fashion. She’d had to roll the sleeves of his white dress shirt up as well, though when she glanced in the mirror she realized it somehow didn’t look quite as appealing on her as it did on him when he rolled up his sleeves, exposing the swirling tattoos entwined on his left arm. She’d been able to button the shirt, but just barely around the bust. She half hoped the buttons would hold for the evening, and half hoped that if they didn’t, Erik would be too busy appreciating the view to be mad that his shirt was ruined.
They walked together out to the parking lot, past the end of it and to the Denny’s on the other side, where Erik’s motorcycle was stashed near the bushes by the dumpster.
“Have you ever been on a motorcycle before?” He asked, brushing the leaves off of it.
“No.”
He surprised her by tilting her face up to him with a finger under her chin before combing his fingers through her hair, pushing it back out of her face. She held her breath at his caresses, eyes wide. A moment later, once her hair was out of her face, he settled his helmet on her and fastened the chin strap, adjusting it as needed to fit her smaller face.
“There,” he said in a whisper, straightening up.
He got on the bike and steadied it, gesturing for her to get on behind him.
“Put your arms around me,” he instructed. “And hold on tightly. Don’t lean one way or the other, okay?”
“Okay.” Her stomach was still of the butterflies that had been woken up by him touching her face, and having to straddle him while holding on to his waist was doing nothing to calm them.
“Are you ready?” He asked, starting the bike.
“Ready.”
He took off at a slower pace than he might normally. The last thing he wanted was for her to become scared and let go, or to lose her balance. He kept his speed below the legal limit and pulled out onto the road.
Christine had no words to describe the joy she was feeling. She was here, with Erik, on his bike, and they were going nowhere in particular, just enjoying the evening together as the sun sank down below the horizon and the only light in the cloudy sky was a half hidden moon and the buzz of the neon window signs as they passed the strip mall.
She squeezed her arms around him tighter, leaning into him, taking a deep breath, trying to breath in as much of his cologne as she could with the helmet in her way. She hadn’t been this close to him since that night he’d found her in the hotel lobby, trying to plink out a tune on the old piano across from the reception desk, and he’d come and sat next to her, pulling her close and praising her efforts, assuring her that there was music in her even if she didn’t believe there was. He’d taken her hands and helped her form out a song, and ever since she’d known she’d been in love with him.
Surely he felt it too, didn’t he? That’s why she was here now, with him between her legs as she donned his clothing as her own, his helmet protecting her at his own expense, driving her around the streets at her request, right? Because he loved her. She leaned her covered forehead against his back for a moment, savoring the feeling of him in an almost embrace, before lifting her head to look around at the world zipping past them.
She wished she could feel her hair blowing in the wind, but she was grateful her eyes were saved from the fate of wind blowing in them, and while she knew Erik would never let them come to harm, accidents did happen and it was probably better to be safe than sorry. She was already planning to stash aside as much of her next paycheck as she could for a helmet of her own.
The world looked so different on a bike, different even from being in a car. It felt like she was a part of everything going on around her, that for a brief moment she and the man she loved were a part of someone else’s story too as they streaked past them and then faded away into the night.
Erik had memorized every turn of these roads, though many he had yet to be on himself. But he’d studied the maps, needing to know which road was one way only, which path was a dead end, where the intersections were. He had thought it would come in handy for if a quick escape was needed at any point, but he had to admit, it had—so far—been much more useful as a means to impress Christine.
Something across the street caught his eye when he slowed for a yellow light.
“Did you eat dinner?” Erik asked.
She shook her head, then remembered he couldn’t see her.
“No,” she said, her voice a little loud to be heard over the engine. “That's okay, though. I’m sure I have something at home.”
The light turned green, and Erik drove them to what he had spied. This wasn’t on the map, but it was a pleasant surprise and he was grateful for it—a Cinnabon stand. He parked nearby and helped her off the bike.
“Oh, Erik,” she said nervously. “You don’t have to buy me anything. I’m sure I have something at home—“
“I’m sure you don't have cinnamon buns at home,” he admonished playfully. “Let me get some for you.”
She blinked hard, willing herself not to cry. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a cinnamon roll. Erik helped her take the helmet off and she looked away as soon as it was off. If he happened to notice her strange overreaction to being offered a small sweet treat, he didn’t comment on it.
“What would you like?”
She shrugged a little.
“You pick,” she said.
He ordered for them and took their food to a bench nearby.
“Did they have a fork?” She asked anxiously as he opened the box to reveal a number of mini cinnamon rolls.
He tutted.
“We don’t need forks. Look.” He picked one up and ate it whole.
“Erik!” she giggled nervously. “I don’t want to spill any on—on your clothes.” She said the last part quietly.
He rolled his eyes in an exaggerated manner.
“Here,” he said, holding one roll out to her. “I promise you wont get it on your clothes or your hands like this.”
It took her a moment to realize what he was offering, and she looked at him with uncertain eyes. Did he really want to—?
He nodded.
“Open your mouth,” he chided with a laugh. “Don’t you trust me?”
She opened her mouth, concerned that this would actually be much messier than if she picked one up with her hands, but she did trust him, she supposed. After all, they were his clothes…
He brought the little pastry to her mouth and she bit into it, trying not to laugh at the absurd situation and trying, also, not to bite his fingers.
He fed her three more cinnamon rolls in the same manner, both of them trying to not laugh and sometimes failing. On the last roll she moved her head away quickly after her teeth grazed his finger, and some of the frosting ended up on her nose somehow. She dissolved into a fit of giggles at both of the things, and he chuckled at how she was reacting.
“Hold still,” he told her, grinning. “Look at me.”
She turned to face him again, fighting back the laughter still inside of her. Her breath caught in her throat as he wiped the frosting off her nose with his forefinger, then bringing the finger to his mouth, sucking the frosting off of it as he held eye contact with her. She was the first to look away, her heart pounding.
“Are you ready to go home now?” He asked.
She glanced back up at him.
“Yes,” she breathed.
It was with a pang that she realized he probably didn’t mean what she hoped he meant, but nothing could ruin the night they’d just had. The sugared taste of frosting and cinnamon still lingered in her mouth just like the ghost of his fingers on her lingered on her skin.
Helmet back on, they rode to the hotel once more, street lights reflecting off the rain puddles in the streets and on the sidewalks. She held tightly to him, unsure of when she would next get the chance.
Back at the hotel, he stowed his bike away in the bushes once more, something she didn’t particularly feel the need to question him on. They walked in the back door together and he swore softly under his breath. She glanced up at him, questioning.
“I made you miss your bus,” he said.
“Oh. It’s okay. There’s probably another one soon.”
“How soon is soon?”
She shrugged.
“I don’t know,” she said sheepishly. “I’ve never been out this late to know.”
He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, considering their options.
He could drive her to her apartment, but tonight had been risky enough. What if someone had seen them out at the strip mall, on the bench? The last thing he—either of them—needed was for someone to see him at her apartment. Likewise he couldn’t very well let her sit at a bus stop for an undetermined amount of time in the dark—he simply wouldn’t hear of it.
The most obvious solution shouted at him in his own mind—get over your idiotic chivalry and let her stay in your room with you, you bastard. You’re already going to be thinking of her all night, why not have her there with you?
He cleared his throat. No. He would not take a joy ride with her heart and leave her in an emotional ditch somewhere when he was done with her.
“I’ll order you a taxi, okay?”
“You don’t have to do that, Erik—“
“I know. I want to.”
They returned to his room together and she changed in the bathroom while he called and ordered a taxi for her.
She could hear his voice, rich and smooth, slink through the thin walls that separated them as she changed. She stood on the cold tile floor nearly nude, still clutching her borrowed clothes in her hands, hesitant to give them up. She brought them up to her face and closed her eyes, inhaling deeply, letting herself drown in the scent of bergamot and musk that were ingrained into them from his everyday wear. With reluctance she opened her eyes again and folded them, leaving them in a nice stack on the bathroom counter. She quickly changed back into her uniform.
Once changed, he escorted her to the lobby where they waited only a moment before the taxi pulled up. Erik opened the door for her, helping her slide into the backseat of the car, and he lingered there a moment, holding her hand. She smiled up at him, unsure of how to thank him for the night.
But any words she was planning melted away when he brought her hand up to his mouth and brushed his lips against the back of her knuckles in a reverent kiss. Time seemed to stand still in that moment, and everything else faded to a background hum.
The moment passed, and he pulled back, letting her hand fall from his, floating back to the seat of the car.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, lamb,” he told her tenderly, closing the car door.
She looked back at him as the car drove her away, and he was still there on the doorstep of the grand old hotel, watching her for as long as he could. When he was out of sight, she sank down in the seat and closed her eyes, feeling like every bone in her body had melted like cotton candy in water. She wanted to hold on to the way she had felt with him forever. She knew hotel guests were temporary, only passing through, but oh, to be swept up with him like a leaf in the breeze, elevated from the gutter and allowed to fly for one brief, fleeting moment—
She would take whatever she got with him, and she would always long for more, no matter how long it lasted. But she didn’t want to think of the future right now. She only wanted to think of that ride and the rumble of the engine and the way he felt under her touch how the cinnamon sugar had melted on her tongue and how his lips had graced her hand.
She was still thinking of it when she crawled into her little bed and curled under her faded blanket and drifted off to sleep with a smile.
Erik was up late that night, outside once again, smoking yet another cigarette. He could still feel the press of her body against his and how tightly she had clung to him. He didn’t think there were enough cigarettes in the world that could distract him from that.
He retired to his room after his third cigarette, stripping his clothes off and splashing cold water on his unmasked face. The folded stack of his clothes caught his eye. Christine had been wearing these not a few hours before.
He took a quick shower and put on his sleeping attire, turning the light off in the bathroom when he was done—and grabbing the stack of borrowed clothes as he left.
He slid under the cover of the bed, the fact that she had been the one to tuck the edges of the sheets and blankets under the mattress, that she had smoothed her hands over these fine linens to prepare them to be restful for him—it was not lost on him.
He turned the light on the nightstand off, and in the darkness he pulled the discarded clothing closer to him, pretending she was still in them, savoring the hint of dollar store berry scented soap that now graced them.