Page 56 of When Love Is Lost and Found

After a few minutes, Jon's breathing regulates, and the color returns to his face.

"Why are you an only child?" he asks, sitting with his legs bent and elbows resting on his knees. "There should be more of you."

"Why?" I ask, glancing at him.

"Beauty like yours should be multiplied over and over again."

I look at him, expecting him to laugh, but his eyes reveal that he's being serious.

I look away because if I don't, I fear I might lean into him and kiss him.

"Mom had a complicated delivery when I was born. She can't have more children. One of my earliest memories is of my mother, in a fit of anger, screaming at me, saying, ’It's your fault! I can't give your father a son because you broke me.’"

"How old were you?"

"The first time? Four."

"I'm so sorry," he says.

"It's okay," I say, wanting to steer the conversation away from me. "What about you? Why were you an only child for twenty years?"

"I always wanted siblings but never asked why I was an only child. When Mom was pregnant with Noah, she confided in me and told me she wanted to teach and felt one child was enough to form a family with my father while still leaving her the time and energy required to pursue her personal interests and career goals. I remember watching her as she said this. She was smiling and gently rubbing her belly, loving the life she carried inside her. Noah wasn't a mistake, or a procedure gone wrong. Noah has enriched our family in so many ways."

"I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for Noah," I say. "It might not be the best time to say this, but I'm glad I'm here. Stuck in an elevator? No. But sitting here with you? Yes."

His gaze is so piercing that it reaches deep inside me, touching a part of me that was always reserved for someone else.

"You must be feeling better," I say when a wide grin spreads across his lips.

"You know," he begins, "you still owe me a kiss."

"Pardon me?" I ask as my heart begins to flutter.

"I won the bet."

"What bet?"

"We bet on whether or not I could braid your hair. That braid is still going strong, so you owe me a kiss."

That slight flutter I felt two seconds ago quickly turns into a band of wild horses galloping inside my chest.

"Sorry for pointing out the obvious," I say in protest, "but we never discussed what was at stake."

"We didn't discuss it, but it was always a kiss."

"And what would I have won?” I ask, trying to maintain my composure.

"That would've been up to you," he says, "but you didn't win. I did."

"You're feeling better, I see."

"A kiss would help."

"Jon, what you're doing is called blackmail!"

The sound of his erupting laughter fills the small space and makes me realize he's kidding.

"I can't believe you!" I say, laughing and giving him a little shove with my shoulder.

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