Page 26

“Well, Faye, take a seat, will you?”

Nerves titter under my skin as I slide onto the stool behind the counter, dad on the other. He hooks his thermos of coffee, takes a swig for courage, and meeting my eyes once again, says, “When boys and girls begin dating, it’s a little different from when two older adults begin dating. There is a rush of feeling, a desire to be with that other person completely, that drives a young love to—to situations that can be dangerous.”

“Are you talking about sex?”

Dad reddens curiously. Although sex isn’t comfortable for me to discuss with my parents, it’s not entirely out of the norm. Mom and Dad have tried their best to prepare me for the realities of life, and sex is one of those realities.

“I am.”

“Okay?”

“What I’m saying is that when you’re young, the relationship is more physically driven than it is mentally and even emotionally driven, as it often is when you’ve reached a higher maturity that comes only with age. The love you are feeling isn’t any less real, kiddo, that’s not what I’m saying. But you will be driven more by your physical feelings for Holt, as you continue to—well, as you continue to explore each other.”

“We’re not doing that yet.”

“Thank God.” Dad rushes, then clears his throat again. “What I mean is, I’m happy you’re not rushing into sex. There is plenty of time for that as you age.”

“And get more mature.” I grin at Dad.

He looks momentarily bashful. “You are a very mature young lady, but keep in mind, I was young once, too. I recall very clearly what it felt like to be driven by my desires to explore the opposite sex.”

I pat the counter. “I’m sure you do.”

He pins me with a pointed look. “Don’t be a brat.”

I laugh. I can’t help myself. “Sorry.”

“Forgiven.” I think we’re done, but Dad soldiers forth. “I just don’t want your eagerness to explore now to be the thing to hold you back later. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

I’m pretty sure I understand exactly what he’s saying. Under my breath, I mutter, “Don’t get pregnant.”

Dad releases a gust of breath. “That. Exactly that. Don’t get pregnant. At least not until you are ready.” Dad’s face pinches. “Closer to twenty-eight.” He reconsiders. “Thirty-five.”

“You want me to have a geriatric pregnancy?” My tone is dry.

Dad rears back, face slack with horror. “A what, now?”

“Geriatric means⁠—”

“I know what geriatric means. How is thirty-five considered geriatric?”

I tap my biology text. “It’s all right here. There’s a higher risk to pregnancy as a whole after thirty-five.”

“That’s rubbish.”

“Tell that to the scientists.”

Dad huffs. “Them scientists change theories more than you change your outfits.”

“Hey!”

He gives me a dry look. “Try telling me it’s not true.”

I giggle, because I really can’t do that. My laugh stops as the bells on the door chime, and Holt appears. My throat feels suddenly tight, my skin hyper-aware, my heart racing fast. I don’t know how one person’s presence can make me feel like this. Can affect me like this. It’s like all the air in the room shrinks down to him. He becomes my only source of breath, drawing me closer and closer. He’s a magnet, and the attraction is a force I’m unable to deny. I don’t want to deny it. Don’t want to reject it—whatever this thing is that lives between us.

“Hey.” His voice is so deep, and a little rough. It ignites all those tiny sparks of awareness beneath my skin until I’m a flushed beacon of teenage hormones that has Dad muttering, “This is what I’m talking about, kiddo. The physical draw.”

I’m relieved that Dad has spoken low enough that Holt doesn’t hear. Still, the red flush darkens another notch and Holt’s eyes light with curiosity as he moves deeper into the store.