Friday night rolls around, and I hear Nik knock on the door as I'm putting on my dark red lipstick. The shade makes a striking contrast against my cream-colored skin. Dad always called me his porcelain doll because I'm pale as a ghost and don't have any freckles or moles. Aleks told me my skin was "bright, like a lily."

But I'm not thinking about either of them tonight. I'm thinking about Nik. He has my complete, undivided attention, starting now. I jog through the apartment and unlock the door, taking a deep breath before I open it. As soon as he sees me, he lights up, and I feel the thoughts of my past dissipate.

He takes me to dinner, which is quite elegant--a French restaurant with wines more expensive than my last utility bill. I can't imagine how an English teacher in Minneapolis can afford such extravagance, but I just order the cheapest thing I can find on the menu and don't question him. After dinner, he suggests we take a walk on the lakeside trail in Edina. The path is lit by dainty white lights strung around the posts that line the trail.

"Tell me something I don't know about you," he prompts, slipping his hand into mine. I intertwine my fingers with his, smiling up at him.

"That's a pretty loaded question." I hum, unsure of what to say. "Do you have any more specific questions?"

He laughs. "I mean, I have a lot of questions, but I'm not sure which ones are okay to ask. You know I just want to know everything about you."

The back of my neck feels hot. He has a way of making me feel exposed when I think I am fully covered. "You make it sound like I have a bucket of secrets waiting to spill. How do you know I'm not just boring?"

He bites back a smile. "Because I can tell you're holding out on me."

I stop and turn to face him. "Oh?" I take his other hand and swing them between us. "And what makes you so sure of that?"

His tall, slender body towers over me, but he leans down so our noses are almost touching. "Tell me I'm wrong."

I raise to my tiptoes and our noses brush against each other. "I can't."

"Then tell me something. Anything."

We stop just short of kissing, and I slip out of his reach, running ahead on the path. Once I'm a few yards ahead of him, I turn around and beckon him, biting my lip.

He jogs towards me, and I take off running again. The sound of our laughter fills the air, and I squeal when he catches me by the waist.

"Why don't you guess?" I ask him.

"Guess?" his tone is bewildered, but he's still laughing. "You want me to guess your secrets? You're too enigmatic, I can't even imagine." He holds me close to him from behind, his chin dropping to the crown of my head.

My heart races. I'm running out of diversions. "Pick a topic, and I'll talk about it," I say before I can change my mind.

"Can I just ask a question?"

"Sure."

"What are you so afraid of?"

I don't realize I know the answer to his question until it leaves my lips: "Being happy with someone."

"Why?"

There's no turning back now. I whirl around to face him, pushing my emotions as far back as possible. "I was engaged once, and he cheated on me. He came home with hickeys and told me he got mugged, so I believed they were from someone trying to strangle him until I came home one day and all of his things were gone. Then I became a fix-it project for a computer science major who had his way with me and then moved away. My dad was depressed off and on his entire life, and two years ago he drove out to the clearing where he proposed to my mom and shot himself. My then-boyfriend moved back to Canada a month later because his mom had cancer."

The revelations pour out of me, one after the other, and then everything is silent. Nik's gaze burns into me, and I have nothing left to say. I can't dress any of it up. I can't cry so he knows to comfort me. I don't need him to tell me that I'm brave, or that he isn't going to leave. I'm shaking, but it's from adrenaline, not fear.

He takes both of my hands. "I wish I had something profound to say, but to be perfectly honest, I'm at a loss . . . I can't imagine how those things must have felt when they happened. I wish you didn't have to go through any of that."

There's no way to tell how much time passes before we start walking again. He tucks me under his arm, and the dynamic between us is much different than just minutes before.

"Have you ever heard the proverb 'Love is like dew that falls on both nettles and lilies?'" he asks me.

I shake my head. "No, I haven't. It's beautiful though."

"It sounds like you've loved a lot of people, and you've been hurt in those situations . . ." He opens his mouth and closes it again, like he's debating whether or not he should continue.

I nudge him with my hip, encouraging him to keep going.

He sighs. " . . . but love isn't what hurt you, Lillian . . . it was those people and circumstances." He stops and turns me in his arms so I'm facing him. "But that doesn't happen every time."

Though the sentiment is sweet, I'm not sure I believe him. "How do you know?"

"I mean, I don't know, but I don't believe in Murphy's Law," he teases, trying to lighten the mood. "I don't think you need to be afraid of being happy, regardless of who is in your life. That's really all I meant by it."

I know that isn't all he wants to say, so I wait. I feel the emotion start to flood back without warning. I've unloaded my life on him, and he's pulling out all the stops, desperate to say the right things.

"Lillian, I want to be with you."

Instead of saying anything back, I reach for him and pull him down to my height. When I kiss him, I can feel the relief and desperation in his response, emanating from everywhere his body touches mine.

We break away and I keep my hands on either side of his face. I can feel my own pulse in my fingertips. "This was so not a part of my plan."

He laughs and runs his hands through the length of my hair. "You had a plan?"

"I mean, no, but that's kind of the point."

He kisses me again, and I can't remember the last time I felt so happy.

"Tell me something about you," I say. "I'm probably not even the interesting one here."

He laughs, shaking his head. "I highly doubt that. What would you like to know?"

"Mm . . . What are your favorite things?"

"Well," he thinks for a moment, "I love to look. My family is Greek, so it's a big thing for us. I used to paint, 'back in high school.'" He winks at me, alluding to the other night. "I teach the third grade Sunday school class at my church. I love it when people say mosquitos are the state bird of Minnesota. Do you want me to keep going?"

I tell him yes, and he goes on. The more I learn about him, the more thankful I am that he chose me. We walk the rest of the path, and it's midnight before we get back to my apartment. Something tells me I could get used to these late nights...