The Virgin Gift(17)

The key to communication is facing your fear. Why are you afraid of what your lover might say when you reveal yourself? Ask what scares you. Are you afraid he or she will judge you? Will look at you differently? These are normal worries, but facing them is brave, and moving past them can give you the keys to your future. So let me leave you with this: Don’t be afraid to speak your mind. Talking is sexy. Sharing is sensual. You don’t have to reveal everything, but intimacy comes from honesty, and when you can speak truthfully, you just might find yourself reaching new levels of connection.



I wasn’t sure it was intimacy I sought so much as knowledge. But both went down the same path. The path of truth.

With my shoulders squared, I left my bedroom, resolute that we’d be the same and I’d talk to him as I always had.

Once I entered the living room, my nose lifted and I inhaled the most fantastic scents.

Breakfast. Adam’s omelets. Fresh mushrooms and eggs and slices of avocado. And coffee. The rich aroma of a cup of morning joe.

It was heaven.

My mouth watered as I turned into the kitchen to find him at the stove. He wore only jeans as he cooked.

I blinked.

Why wasn’t this on my list? This was a fantasy I hadn’t known I had. This handsome man shirtless and making food for me.

I stared at the lean muscles of his back, his toned biceps, and his sinewy forearms as he folded the eggs, singing under his breath.

He flipped the omelet then brought the spatula to his mouth, crooning softly about being hooked on a feeling.

A smile took over my face. That song.

I loved that song.

Loved even more that Adam was himself the next day. Singing in the kitchen.

“I can’t believe . . .” I sang softly, offering the next line in the tune.

He spun around, but his frown of confusion quickly turned into a grin as he handed me a second spatula. “Duet?”

“But of course.”

I joined in, singing in harmony about lips as sweet as candy. We cruised through the song, hitting some notes, missing others. And as we reached the lyrics about good love, I told myself it was just a song. They were just lines. We were having a blast.

And it was everything I wanted as he finished making our breakfast while we rocked out karaoke-style in my kitchen.

Talk about not weird.

The sheer normalcy of it lubricated the path to my admission. As soon as we sat down to eat, I jumped off another cliff.





10





Nina





“It’s because of my sister,” I said.

He tilted his head, his eyes waiting for me to say more. “Ella?”

“Yes. She’s a single mom. As you know.”

“I do,” he said, then took a bite of the mushroom omelet.

I took a bite too, chewed, then spoke again. “And don’t get me wrong. Her son is the coolest eleven-year-old I know, but . . .” I heaved a sigh. “She had him when she was seventeen.”

He nodded. “Right. I sort of did the math the few times we’ve visited her,” he said, since he’d met my sister and her kid, and my parents too. They lived nearby.

“She didn’t plan on getting pregnant in high school, but she wasn’t going to give up the baby. It wasn’t easy,” I said heavily, remembering the terror on Ella’s face when she’d learned she was having a baby. “I was only in eighth grade. We’d always been close, and I wanted desperately to help her, to fix the problem. But there was, of course, nothing to be done. My parents didn’t want her to have an abortion, and she didn’t either. She’d planned to give up the baby for adoption.”

“That must have been tough for Ella.” His eyes filled with sadness.

“But once she was further along, she couldn’t go through with the adoption,” I said, recalling Ella’s tears, her heartache. “I used to hear her crying at night, and in the morning, she’d talk to my mom about what to do.”

“That’s so hard. I can’t even imagine how my sisters would have handled that,” he said sympathetically, his eyes soft as they locked with mine.

“My parents supported her choice. They understood it too—why she’d had a change of heart. But once he was born, everything was upended for her, and for them too. They became grandparents, and, in a way, parents again.”

“It’s the kind of life change that shocks everyone,” he said, taking a second to squeeze my arm, a friendly, caring squeeze.

“And she also took it upon herself to make sure I wouldn’t follow in her footsteps. She urged me to be careful, to use protection. It was nonstop, her advice train. And, of course, it was and is good advice,” I said, and took a drink of the coffee, thinking of my overprotective sister. “Her advice worked. But in a different way.”

He lifted a curious brow, as he took a bite of the omelet. “How so?”

“I made a different decision then—to wait. I didn’t want to take a single chance, Adam. I didn’t want that type of soul-ripping, bone-crushing heartache. And I also knew from an early age what I wanted in life.”

“Your photography,” he said, smiling, like he was delighted to know the answer.

I smiled too. “I knew what I wanted when I was thirteen and my parents gave me my first camera. All I ever wanted was to be a photographer. To go to art school, to learn the craft. I didn’t want anything to derail my plans. And when Ella got pregnant, I learned exactly how one mistake, one stolen moment where you took a risk, could backfire. Could capsize your future. Even though my parents helped, Ella had to drop out of high school for the first six months after the baby was born. My mom cut back at her job to help with the baby. And when Ella finally went to college, it took her six years and so many sleepless nights to get her degree.”