Ginger's Heart (A Modern Fairytale, #3)(58)
But at twenty-one, Cain really didn’t seem to have a plan for his life. He seemed much younger than her and Woodman in many ways, talking about touring Europe on his motorcycle, without any idea if he’d reenlist or do something else with his life. Before leaving for boot camp, Woodman had had such a clear plan for his life: five years in the service, three years in active Reserves, then working on her father’s farm and volunteering at the fire department until he saved up enough to buy a house in Apple Valley. And yes, his plan would have to be rearranged a little bit in light of his injury, but at least she’d known his plan, and she liked the comfort and security of it. The predictability of it appealed to her and felt safe. But Cain? Cain was footloose and fancy-free—no solid plan for his life. Just a young man with a twinkle in his eye who saw the world as a playground just waiting to be explored.
For all her parents’ wealth, which could have easily funded a wanderlust of her own, Ginger had no real interest in travel. She was a small-town girl who liked her small-town life. She was content to live in the cottage on her parents’ property until she got married and settled down, content to take nursing classes at a community college and intern at the retirement home where her gran lived. Ginger didn’t have big dreams about leaving Apple Valley and traveling the world. Her dreams were small and local. Which meant that here and now—at eighteen and twenty-one—she and Cain were all but incompatible when it came down to their visions for the future. They wanted different things from life. They wanted very different things.
And yet.
She closed her eyes and allowed herself free rein, fantasizing about what she really wanted.
In her wildest dreams—in her perfect world—she would give her virginity to Cain over the next few days, and he would take it tenderly, declaring his eternal and undying love for her. When he left, he’d promise to write, and they would exchange passionate letters sharing their deep and growing love and counting down the days when they could be together again. She’d meet him in Virginia, and they’d spend a long weekend in a hotel together. He’d surprise her by coming home for a weekend in the spring, unable to stay away, and they’d hole up in her cottage until it was time for him to go. And then, well, when his year was up, he’d race home to her, all wild fantasies of biking through Europe thrust to the side because being with her was all the adventure he really wanted. He’d decide not to reenlist and go into the active Reserves instead, because choosing to be away from her was unthinkable. Over time he’d come to truly love Apple Valley for the first time in his life—she’d help him love it, help make a home for him, help him be happy. He’d work at the fire department, and one day she’d come home from work and he’d pop the question—Will you marry me, princess? And she’d say Yes, yes, yes! And they’d live happily ever after.
“Happily ever after,” she whispered. “Ginger and Cain Wolfram.”
But saying the names aloud sounded so unlikely that the beautiful, impossible dream in her head blurred as her eyes filled with tears that pooled in the corners until they slipped into her hair. The problem with this plan?
It wasn’t Cain’s plan.
It was Woodman’s.
And the great dilemma of her life—loving two different parts of two different men—came into stark focus as she realized, yet again, that while one man could offer her the sweetness and stability she craved, it was the other who challenged her and set her heart on fire. She could have security with Woodman or electricity with Cain, but she couldn’t have both with one. Neither cousin could offer her both.
Flipping onto her side, she nestled her cheek into her pillow, staring out the window at the meadows and fields of the farm. She was frustrated and sad, and time wasn’t on her side where Cain was concerned.
“Stop thinking about forever,” she pleaded with herself. “What do you want now?”
The answer came swiftly: I want Cain. For however long I can have him.
The thoughts were perfectly formed, and if she hadn’t yet seen them in her head or heard them in her ears, it didn’t matter, because she recognized their absolute truth now. Cain had been her first kiss. She wanted him to be her first lover too.
Her inexperienced body came alive when Cain was near—secret, hidden places clenching and releasing in want and readiness, her nipples beading, and shivers of pleasure sluicing down her back. She didn’t feel this sort of desire for anyone else—she never had. And at eighteen, she was long past ready to experience lovemaking, but she’d saved herself . . . for Cain.
And yes, she knew that dozens had come before her, but she also knew he hadn’t loved any of them.
And yes, she knew that he would leave her to go back to the service, but part of her hoped that if they slept together, he’d have something to come home to.
And yes, she knew that he had a yearning to wander, but another part of her hoped that if they loved each other—if they shared their bodies and said the words and knew they were true—that he’d consider a future in Apple Valley because she was in Apple Valley, and his longing to be with her, to choose her, would be so great, he’d have no choice but to obey it.
And in the end, yes, it was possible she’d give Cain her virginity and she’d never see him again, but . . . but . . .
She rolled onto her back, staring up at the shadows on her ceiling. Could she handle that? Could she bear having Cain for a handful of days and then losing him forever?