Page 58 of Child of Mine

Hands in the air, I backtrack. “Everything in a way that she can understand. I read this article about talking to kids about sex—”

“We have to have the sex talk?”

His voice has climbed to the top of his register, and I have to stifle a laugh. “No, but I think the approach should be similar. This article suggested that you don’t sit your kid down and have this big sex talk. You just answer their questions openly and honestly when they come up.”

The panic on his face is priceless. “Havethose questions come up?

I just nod, enjoying torturing him more than I should. “Some. Like, ‘Where do babies come from?’ But the trick is to only answer the exact question the kid asks. Don’t launch into an extended explanation. They’ll only ask what they’re ready to hear about.”

“So, we sit her down and tell her that I’m her dad. Then what?”

I shrug. “And that’s it, unless she asks for more.”

“But what if she asks, like, how we know?”

“Well”—I run a hand up and down his face and body—“she looks like you.”

His expression shifts from alarm to wonder. “She looks just like my sister at that age.”

“Exactly. Tell her that.”

“And if she asks more? What words do I use?”

Slowing my steps, I take my time grappling with his question, too. “Well, what is the truth?”

He gestures between us. Just like that night on the balcony. “We met…”

“And we…” I add.

“Had a really strong…” he continues.

“Connection?”

“We connected, all right.”

I can tell from his devilish tone that I shouldn’t meet his gaze, so I keep moving. “But then you had an emergency and had to go to Raleigh, and I didn’t know how to get in touch with you. And then we saw each other and we weren’t sure, but then we…”

“Had that connection again.”

His grin is merciless. Remorseless.

Hands on hips, I say, “This is not useful.”

He just keeps grinning. “Sorry. I’m nervous.”

“And you make jokes about sex when you’re nervous?”

“Only with you.”

“Great.” I shake my head. “Let’s just… uh, have you decided what you want? What your parameters are?”

He nods sharply. “I want what she wants.”

“What if that’s not possible?”

“I guess there are reasonable boundaries. I mean, I can’t give her a pony, right?”

“Right. No ponies.” We’ve come to a turnaround on the path, so I face him again. “But what if she wants the mom and dad and two-point-four kids? And a dog and a picket fence?”

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