She tells me she isn’t hungry and I realize I’m not either. Instead she takes me to the bakery.

“I have an idea of what we can do,” she says. The vulnerability of our streetlamp confession has forced us to shed all of our pretenses. Right now, we are as real as any two people can be.

“I have a few ideas too,” I say, wrapping my arms around her waist as she unlocks the back door and kissing her neck.

She laughs against me, but shakes her head. “Here, let me show you.”

In the kitchen she shows me the beginnings of a gingerbread village. “I baked it last night, and started frosting pieces together this morning when we were slow.” There are about a dozen gingerbread houses put together, and bowls and bowls of every kind of candy imaginable. “The candy is from my sister-in-law, Hazel’s shop.”

“And your boss just lets you make whatever you want?”

She scrunches up her face. “I’m the boss. Maggie and I are co-owners. After Luke died I knew I needed to figure out a way to support my family. I always loved baking so I decided to open up a shop. I’m just glad I was able to rope my sister in, too.”

“Wow, that’s impressive, and resourceful,” I tell her. “Like Sarah.”

That last comment makes her smile. Already though, the wheels are turning in my mind. Greta is a mom of two, running a business, and lives three hours from where I reside. It may have only been a day, but I’m trying to work it out in my mind. How can we make a life together work?

“Your face doesn’t make me believe you’re impressed. You look worried.”

I force myself to relax. “It’s just, you have a whole life already.”

She laughs. “That is true.” She opens a fridge and pulls out a massive tub of icing. “Are you already second guessing your I’ll give you an ending you deserve lines?”

“Greta, those weren’t lines,” I say, frustration washing over me. “That’s not it at all.”

She begins scooping out icing and putting it in a pastry bag. “Then why the long face?”

“I was trying to figure out how our lives could merge.”

She shakes her head quickly. “Don’t, Ansel. Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

I scoff. “Why not? Why not be crazy and go all in? A few minutes ago there was no doubt in your mind, what happened since then?”

She drops the icing bag, flustered. “What happened was I realized this isn’t a dream. This is real life. And--” She covers her face.

“And what, Greta?”

“And maybe you sweeping in here like this is too good to be true.”

“Maybe being too good isn’t a bad thing, sweet cheeks.” I won’t let fear rule her heart, not now. Not when what we both want is so damn close. I pull her to me and pick her up and then sit her down on the counter. “Maybe you need a man like me to sweep you off your feet more often.” I lift the hem of her sweater, pulling it up, over her head. Her gorgeous tits so damn tempting. “Or maybe you just need a man like me.”

She gasps, then, when I bury my face in her breasts. I pull down the lacy cups of her bra and sucking her nipples, inhaling her sweet honey scent. Her breasts are perfect globes and when I run my tongue over her bare skin, I know I’m getting a mouthful of the only tits I want. Hers.

“Ansel,” she pants, her hands running through my hair as I fall to my knees, inching her ass up so I can tug off her jeans. I slide down her panties, her ass cheeks against the cold stainless steel, but I’ll get her nice and hot real soon.

“Stop being scared, Greta,” I tell her, spreading her knees. “We will work out the details. I will fall in love with your kids. I will move here. I don’t know how it will all happen-- but damn, it will happen.”

I pull her ass closer to the edge of the counter, needing access to her sweet cunt.

“How can you be so sure? How can you know this is real?”

I look up at her, her eyes so full of want and fear and hope and desire.

“I know because when I look at you I see the story I want to write, I see the life I want to live. When I look at you, Greta, I see the ending. Us. Together.”

“And what if you wake up and realize this was a rough draft? A book that you don’t actually want to read?”

I smile then, knowing whatever her and I have, has already been written in the stars. “I know, because we are Ansel and Greta-- we’re practically a fairy tale. Now let’s make it something real.”

Those words melt her to me, and a smile spreads, taking place of all the worry in her heart.

“Damn, you really know how to talk to a woman,” she laughs, shaking her head.

“No, Greta, I know how to talk to my woman.”

I spread her knees apart, and blow hot air against her pussy. She moans as I run my tongue over her wet folds, her body so needy now. She tastes sublime, and I enjoy making her squirm, her knees buckling as my tongue fucks her the way she was meant to be enjoyed. My hands squeeze her waist and ass, holding on as I devour her pussy. It sings for me, her cunt, dripping and desperate and so damn close to orgasm.

When she is close enough to taste, I stand, dropping my jeans, my hard cock throbbing to feel her bare cunt around it.

“Take me, Ansel,” she begs. “Wherever you want.”

I roll on a condom and pick her perfect ass up, needing her to sit down on my cock, to move her hips as I thrust in her tight pussy. I unclasp her bra, needing her tits free, wanting them pressed against me, needing them to bounce as I fuck her against a wall. Against the back door, I thrust inside her dripping pussy, her arms wrapped around my neck, begging for more.

“Harder, Ansel,” she whispers, her head thrown back and her legs tight around my waist. I could fucking take her forever.

We come, both of us, but we aren’t through. “Your pussy is so fucking perfect,” I groan, rolling on another condom, and pinning her to a prep table. Her tits move as I enter her from above, and we shake the table as my cock moves deep inside her. Bowls of candy fall to the floor, tiny pieces of red hots and candy canes and jellybeans skittering against the linoleum. We laugh at the insanity, at the fucking high we are riding.

Her pussy keeps begging for more, and I won’t end this night until she’s out of breath. After I come inside her for the second time, I start using my fingers to get her off. Her slick cunt is so damn ready, and as I press a finger inside her, I look over her bare body, so damn beautiful.

“Don’t look too close,” she moans as my thumb presses against her throbbing clit, teasing her in the most delicious way. “I have stretch marks and I gave birth to two babies... it’s not a perfect body, Ansel.”

“Fuck that,” I tell her, my eyes are enraptured with the body before me. This flesh that made two children, that brought them into the goddamn world--her skin is perfection--because it’s her skin, her flesh, her bones. “You’re gorgeous, Greta, and I vow to make sure you know that.”

“Oh, God,” she moans, so close, my hand moving so hard against her. Before she comes completely, she begs me to fill her up. I pull her from the table, turning her around, and putting another condom on as my eyes feast on her creamy ass. I take her from behind, spreading her cheeks as my cock moves toward her cunt. It’s tighter when I fuck her this way, and she bends over the table gasping as I fill her up like she needs.

As I take her, the table moves, hard, and the gingerbread houses start to fall. I start to pull out, not wanting to destroy her creation, but she reaches around, grabbing my hip. “Don’t stop,” she begs, “Let them fall. This is more delicious than those gingerbread houses could ever be.”