Charlotte closed the journal in her lap and folded her hands. Bonnie had been a good listener earlier that night and had kept her commentary to a minimum-just what Charlotte needed. The last thing she could have dealt with was her best friend expressing shock or disappointment or passing judgment.

Bonnie had simply nodded a lot Held her hand. Let her talk. And as the words had spilled from Charlotte's lips, she felt somehow separate from the story she told her friend, as if it had happened to another woman.

She supposed it had.

After all, who is the same woman at thirty-five as she was at twenty-two? No one she'd ever met, that was for sure. On that day thirteen years ago, she'd been young and optimistic, ready to graduate, ready to get engaged, ready to start her life. She'd felt like she was ready to step out into the bright perfect world of her future.

But somehow, right there in that convertible on the GW Parkway, it hit her like a cinder block to the forehead- Kurt Tasker would be the first and only man she'd ever have sex with. Sex-that dark territory she'd tiptoed around and shut her eyes against in order to stay a good girl-would be experienced with Kurt and only Kurt. He would define it for her. He would be her travel companion. Her tour guide. The only places she'd ever go would be the places he took her. Just him. One man.

Forever.

Even back then, had she known in her heart that it would be a no-frills excursion? Yes, if she answered honestly, she had. But at the time that had seemed a small sacrifice to make. After all, Kurt Tasker was good for her, just what she needed in so many other ways. And a woman couldn't have everything, right?

Charlotte recalled the conversation they'd had before he flew out to his interview at the Enquirer, Once again, it was Charlotte who brought up the subject of sex, only to be guided back to moral ground by Kurt. It was best to wait until they were married, he'd reminded her. It was the right thing to do. It would be worth the wait. They would enter into their covenant of marriage in God's favor.

Of course he'd been right, and she'd felt that familiar sense of guilt wash over her. What was wrong with her? Why did it tantalize her so much? Why wasn't she as patient as Kurt? As in control of her desires?

Then something happened that should have set off the warning bells. They'd been sitting at the gate, waiting for boarding to begin. Kurt had been reading the Sporting News, his fingers absently stroking the top of her left hand. She watched his big thumb trace the vein under her pale skin, let her eyes travel up his thick forearm to his biceps under the sleeve of his pinstripe Oxford shirt, then to his eyes the same pale shade of blue, moving from side to side as he read.

She couldn't help it. She loved the way he looked. She'd touched him everywhere, she'd had her hands on his bare flesh, and that one time things got "out of hand," as Kurt referred to it, she'd even had him in her mouth.

He was beautiful. He made her feel hot and soft and female. She wanted to have sex with him. She wanted him inside her. She wanted to surrender to the mysterious pull of sexual desire. And yet she admired him so for his restraint, his strong sense of what was right and wrong. He was such a good man.

That's when she'd said, "Kurt?"

He'd looked up at her and blinked. "Hmm?"

She'd cleared her throat. "How important is sex in a relationship, do you think?"

His eyes went wide. "Charlotte-"

"I'm not pushing. I'm just curious. Listen, if a relationship between a man and woman were like a whole pie-"

"What kind of pie are we talking about? Apple? Boston cream?"

She'd laughed. He could always make her laugh. "I'm serious."

He'd bent down and kissed her cheek. "I'm listening. We're talking about a married man and woman, is that right?"

She grinned. "Sure. A married couple. And the whole of their relationship is a Boston cream pie."

"Sounds good so far." He raised an eyebrow.

"Okay." Charlotte took a deep breath for courage. "Just how important is sex to them? How many pieces of the pie would have to be made up of good sex for them to be happy?"

Kurt frowned and folded the Sporting News in his lap. "Are you talking about our pies, Charlotte?"

Her heart beat fast. She licked her lips in nervousness. "Yes. My pie. Your pie. Let's say each has eight pieces. How many pieces of your pie would have to be dedicated to sex?"

"Okay." She'd watched Kurt's eyes travel over to the glass wall overlooking the taxiway. He turned to her. "Probably one slice."

Charlotte remembered that her mouth had opened and a sharp bolt of fear shot up her spine. Because, though she could never say it out loud, she'd just pictured five slices of sex. Okay, six-six big, sweet, creamy, melt-in-your-mouth pieces of sex.

But she'd smiled at Kurt and said, "That sounds about right." Then he'd boarded his flight to Cincinnati.

It had been the first time she'd ever lied to him.

Charlotte jumped from her bed and tucked the journal into her nightstand, locking the drawer, placing the key under the base of the reading lamp like she always did, thinking about what had happened three days later, when she went back to the airport to pick up Kurt. The day she met Joe.

Charlotte walked toward her bedroom windows. She could see the tiniest slice of pink on the horizon. Another day was coming. Another day when she'd be mommy and business owner and widow. Another day that she would feel the undertow of loneliness and need, so strong lately she feared it would eat her alive.

She dragged her fingertips along the cool pane of glass, remembering the miracle of letting go in Joe's arms, how perfect it felt to release all the wildness and curiosity hiding inside her. She'd allowed a stranger to see how much passion lived in her, how hot she really was, and she'd felt real for the first time in her life. Free. Alive.

Was it wrong to want that again?

She stared at the Connor house-his house now- glowing in the pale daylight and heard a little voice inside her head whisper, Maybe just once more?

The sun tried its best to cut through the blustery air, but Charlotte's fingers still felt stiff and cold as she hunched over, trying to unravel the tangled pieces of string.

"Here, let me block the wind," Bonnie said, hovering over her.

"Mommy, hurry!" Hank called. "It's almost the time I was born!"

"Hang on. I've got it. There!" Charlotte straightened and held out three purple balloons to Hank, making sure her daughter held them securely.

Charlotte then gave the three yellow ones to Matt, the blue one to Bonnie, and kept the red one for herself.

She imagined that they made an odd picture out there on the knoll in the middle of the Minton Recreation Park, colorful balloons flapping in the wind. But it was Hank's birthday, and this was where she wanted to launch her messages to Kurt, and the Tasker family custom was that you got whatever you wanted-within reason-on your birthday.

Hank raised her face to her mother and grinned, her blue eyes sparkling. "Tell me again exactly what he said when I was born, Mama."

Charlotte was prepared for this part of the ritual, but being prepared didn't make it any easier.

"You came out screaming bloody murder," she answered, just the way she knew Hank wanted to hear it.

"A brat from the start," Matt mumbled.

"And your daddy took you from the doctor, tucked you close, and told you shake it off and get back in the game."

Hank's face blossomed. "Then what happened next?"

"You got very, very quiet. Then you punched Daddy in the nose with your fist."

Everyone laughed but Matt.