Page 74 of With a Cherry On Top

She cracks a grin. “I’m not waiting for Prince Charming to give my flower to, if that’s what you’re asking. In fact, my flower’s long gone. It’s probably flattened out inside a book and dried up, ready to be hung in some old lady’s house.”

Chief.728

So what do you mean?

She hesitates, something shifting in her expression until she looks more vulnerable. For the first time since we got on this call, she seems almost...uncertain.

Chief.728

You don’t have to tell me, Cherry.

“It’s not a big deal.” She clears her throat, dropping her gaze for a second before looking up again. “It might sound...stupid, but sex is really important to me. Not foreplay—I love messing around with men, having fun. But I find the act of penetration to be...emotional. The feeling of someone...filling me up”—she bites her bottom lip, and I wonder if she’s thinking about me. About Aaron, not Cole, telling her those exact words just a few days ago—“pushing inside me. Of being completely open and connected to another person. It’s not something I can do with just anyone.”

It doesn’t sound stupid at all. Casual sex has never done much for me. The physical part is easy, but without a deeper connection, it always feels...awkward. Empty.

Chief.728

I get it. There’s a lot of vulnerability in sex.

“Exactly. No kissing, no sex, and no sharing the same bed for the night equals no vulnerability.” She tips her head back against the pillows. “And therefore, no boyfriends.”

I’m oddly comforted by her admission, like she’s soothed the jealous part of me that doesn’t want to share her with anyone.

But she’s in her twenties—these are the years to fall hopelessly in love. To be reckless, to make mistakes, to chase something breathtaking even if it terrifies you. To have nights that mean nothing and mornings that mean everything. To give your heart away, even if you don’t know what to do with it afterward.

Fingers hovering over the keys, I wonder for a long moment what to say and watch her nestled in her own space. A painting of a coastal landscape hangs above the bed, a pale blue duvet is bunched on one side, and the nightstand is cluttered with a half-empty glass of water and a closed book. Not the silk sheets from her photos—not the polished persona.

Just Charlotte. Real and unfiltered.

Eventually, I settle on,

Chief.728

Don’t you miss it though?

“Miss what?”

Chief.728

You know . . . the stuff people do when they’re dating.

She raises a skeptical brow. “Like what?Cuddling?” She rolls her big, beautiful eyes. “Slow dancing in the kitchen? Showering together and making dinner after a long day?”

She throw them out like they’re ridiculous, but none of that soundsbad. In fact,Imiss it.

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Yeah. Stuff like that.

She snorts, eyes flicking away. “Nope. Don’t miss it at all.”

It’s a lie. I can see it in the way she won’t look at the camera. In the quiet ache that slips into her voice despite her best efforts to bury it.

But I can sense it’s better to let this go, so I type:

Chief.728

Maybe the right guy will come along and barrel through your rules.

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