I had never felt so vulnerable with a man before as I did with Erik. He stirred emotions in me that I thought were only possible in the pages of my favourite romantic novels. Those feelings that seemed reserved for fantasy now stirred within me. It was absurd, I had barely known him for a week. How was it possible?

Perhaps that sensation was what some called chemistry. If I could talk to Vir about it without dying of embarrassment, I'm sure she would tell me that it was called chemistry and that it wasn't something experienced with just anyone. Was I the only one feeling that spark, or could Erik also perceive it?

I begged him not to play with me. I had suffered a lot with Oliver and I wasn't ready to keep suffering, and although Erik promised he wouldn't, the wounds of the past began to ache. Every shout, every lie from the man I shared twenty years of my life with echoed in my head. His false declarations of love and empty apologies made me recoil.

"I can't, Erik," I said, fearing he would shout at me or make me feel embarrassed for imagining things where there were none.

"It's okay, don't worry," he replied, with a calmness that surprised me, making me meet his gaze again.

In his eyes, I saw no trace of anger or disapproval. He didn't seem to hate me, but I could perceive his concern, as if he had caused some harm.

I tried to explain that I wasn't ready, that fear paralyzed me, but I could barely articulate the words.

"I...," I wanted to explain that I wasn't ready, that I had suffered a lot and felt insecure about what I was feeling.

"Andy, it's okay. You don't have to give me explanations," he murmured calmly, softening his smile. "I'm sorry if I did something that made you uncomfortable."

I nodded, although I wasn't entirely sure of what he said. I could feel the concern in his gaze, wondering if he had said something that bothered me. He gave me a sweet kiss on the cheek and walked away calmly. Was everything really okay?

A sigh escaped my lips as I looked down at my knees, which I rubbed nervously. Why did I feel this way? Erik had never done anything to make me uncomfortable, quite the opposite. From the beginning, he was attentive, he tried to make me feel good, despite the communication barriers. In just one week, he had managed to make me laugh more than I had in the past years. So, what was wrong with me? Was that what Vir meant about not sabotaging myself?

"Are you hungry?" I looked up to meet his eyes. "Andy, what's wrong?" he quickly approached, crouching in front of me with a look of confusion and concern on his face.

"Nothing, is just..." I inhaled deeply, trying to undo the knot in my throat. How had I managed to ruin everything like that? We were fine, we were friends, we had fun together, but now, by letting myself go, I had ruined it all.

"You can tell me," he whispered as he brushed a strand of hair from my face, a gesture that deeply moved me. Despite his large size and rugged appearance, he always treated me with astonishing gentleness.

"I don’t know how," I complained, frustrated once again.

"Are you okay with me? If you want to leave, I can take you home," he said, his gaze shifting to the window, where the rain continued to beat forcefully against the glass.

"I’m good with you. I’m good here," I replied. That was the problem. I was too good with him. In a week, I had forgotten my purpose of being an independent and solitary woman, and now I was repeating the same pattern of dependence.

I would get used to his company, think everything was fine, and then realize there was nothing. Then, I would suffer and decide to go somewhere else. Africa, maybe. It was warmer there.

Erik took my hand and squeezed it gently, bringing me back to the present, away from my musings about Africa.

"I understand you've suffered a lot with your ex-boyfriend," his thumb stroked my hand as he spoke. "I won't hurt you," his voice sounded firm, determined.

"Are you angry with me?" My question made Erik frown in surprise before his expression changed to confusion.

"Why would you ask that? Of course not," he assured me. I shrugged, feeling ridiculous. "Andrea, it's understandable. Your ex did something horrible to you." He brought my hand to his lips and gave me a loving kiss on the knuckles, reassuring me.

"But you are nice," I said, embarrassed by saying that. A sweet and somewhat mischievous smile formed on his lips.

"Am I nice?" he asked, making me blush. I nodded. "You're nice too." I pressed my lips together to contain a shy smile.

"Can I hold you?" I asked. Erik squinted thoughtfully and then nodded.

I approached him and hugged him, feeling how he responded to the hug, resting his head on my shoulder and gently stroking my back.

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"Andy," he whispered.

"Tell me," I replied, feeling safe in his arms, protected and less vulnerable than I had felt a moment ago.

"Hug you," he said playfully, squeezing me a little tighter.

"What I said?" I asked, closing my eyes, comfortable in his embrace.

"Hold you," he laughed, not moving an inch, allowing me to stay in that hug for as long as I needed. Finally, out of shyness, I pulled back a little and looked into his eyes. "You can hug me whenever you need to. Got it?" He looked me in the eyes, making me feel dizzy, but I nodded.

"Ok, Teddy bear," I joked, enjoying the jokes with him more than the insecurity.

"That's my girl," he said. He leaned in to give me a kiss on the forehead and then returned to the kitchen.

I bit my lower lip. Not being ready for anything more than friendship didn't mean I was naive, and those displays of affection didn't go unnoticed. I felt, in many ways, that Erik was too much for me, but I also knew it was because of my insecurities, fueled by the terrible relationship I had had before.

"Do you need help?" I asked as I watched him open the fridge and look inside.

"Will you teach me to cook something Spanish?" he asked, scratching his head.

"Of course. What do you like?" I asked, approaching him. His eyes ran over me from top to bottom, and then he adopted a pensive expression.

"Paella," he said, eliciting a laugh from me.

"Paella is difficult," I said, knowing that we probably lacked some ingredients, but we could look for them if he wanted to try it another day. "How about...?" I stroked my chin, thinking of simpler recipes.

"Tortilla de patatas?" he asked in Spanish, with his charming accent.

"Oh! Yes, I love it," I said happily. "Do you like onions?" I asked, and he nodded. "Perfect," I said cheerfully. I loved it with onions, and Oliver hated it, so I could never enjoy it the way I liked it.

"What do we need, boss?" he asked.

"Careful with call me boss. I like it," I warned, amused.

"You're in charge, boss," he finished, making me laugh.

"Huevos, patatas y cebolla.," I said in Spanish, wanting to check if he understood.

He took potatoes from a basket, onions from the fridge, and when he grabbed the eggs, he looked at me with an unsure look, wondering if it was the third ingredient.

"¿Huevos?" he asked, and I nodded, leaving behind the bitter feeling from a few minutes ago and returning to enjoy our friendship, without fears or doubts.

"Do you like cook?" I asked as I washed the potatoes.

"I live alone, I had to learn," he shrugged, skillfully starting to peel the potatoes I was washing.

"Sexy," I blurted out, and he stopped peeling, looking at me almost incredulously. "I mean... men who cook are sexy," I corrected, nervously.

"I’m sexy and I know it," he sang the chorus of the LMFAO song.

"And funny," I pointed out, which only made him clown around singing the song in a comical way.

One of Erik's great attractions, beyond his obvious appearance, was his personality. He wasn't afraid to show who he was or try to act serious and masculine. He lived and acted like a nearly forty-year-old child who enjoyed life without caring what others thought.

"Cebolla.," he asked when he finished with the potatoes. He began to cut it, and his eyes started to tear up.

"Don't cry, everything's fine," I said amused, stroking his back while he, with red eyes, wiped away the tears with the back of his hand. "No hagas eso, será peor," I said, taking his hand to prevent it.

I grabbed a napkin and wiped away his tears, as my hands were clean.

"I'm crying because you don't love me," he complained jokingly.

"That's your opinion," I replied, trying to seem indifferent.

"Do you love me?" he asked, giving me a playful tap on the shoulder.

"Obviously not, that's because you're crying," I laughed, making him open his mouth in surprise. The silly guy then took a piece of onion and brought it closer to his face to cry even more.

"¡Erik! No hagas eso, tonto." I laughed, taking the onion away from him.

"I'm sad!" he said between laughs, although he regretted it afterward because his eyes started to tear up even more.

"Silly boy," I clicked my tongue, taking hold of his chin to wipe his eyes again.

"Andy," he pouted exaggeratedly.

"What"

"No need for you to cry too," I raised an eyebrow, looking at him confused before he took the onion away from me and brought it close to my nose.

"Erik!" I immediately moved away, amused, although my eyes started to tear up.

"Come on, let's cry together," he said, hugging me and caressing my head with the back of his hand, which was clean. "Don't cry, I'll take care of you," he said as if he wasn't the one to blame for anything.

"You're silly," I poked his ribs, tickling him and making him let go of me.

"I know, but you love it," he kissed me on the cheek and continued cooking as if nothing happened.

"Maybe," I shrugged, trying not to smile to avoid giving him the satisfaction.

Our gazes met, and we both smiled silently, not wanting to add anything more to this perfect moment.