Jolie was sitting on a crimson velvet couch in a black lace sundress with a handful of carefully picked poems on the table in front of her when the doorbell rang.  She'd chose the five she had because they were innocent and whimsical.  One was about a princess, one was about a kitten and one was about a favorite old movie of hers.  They were all romantic and sensual with a hint of her idealistic young soul.  They were carefully selected out of a mass of work that included a darker side -- poems of a more secretive nature that she wasn't ready to show such an attractive stranger so soon.  Like her dress, her image of herself with this man was carefully selected.  Though she was indeed very complex, Jolie wanted to show her simplest, purest self.  She hoped as the doorbell rang she had chosen well.<br/><br/>When she opened the door and saw Adam standing there with the champagne and the art supplies looking so attractive and beguiling, her heart raced.  She felt a pull of something much more complex than this simple schoolgirlish poems she had chosen to present.  She tried to take a deep breath and hoped the flush of heat on her cheeks didn't show too much.  She smiled and invited him inside, taking the chilled wet bottle from his warm, strong hands whose touch only made her feel more lost in the emotion of the moment.<br/><br/>"I thought we could work in the living room.  I --"  she had to pause hearing herself begin to stammer nervously talking to this man, feeling like a young, awkward girl like she always did when she was infatuated with a man.  "Let me get some glasses.  If you could open this -- just have a seat on the couch, if you'd like."<br/><br/>Jolie hurried into the kitchen to retrieve the glasses, her hands shaking, her voice weak.  How in the world was she going to read poems to this man -- even silly childish poems like these?  Especially silly childish poems like these.  Somehow her choice to not show her adult side in her writing now seemed strangely more intimate than if she had.  Maybe he would forget.  Then as she was leaning up to grab two champagne flutes from a cabinet, she realized:  I've just left him out there with the poetry right there in front of him.  What if he's already reading it.  She felt mortified at the thought of it and hurried back with the glasses as quickly as she could.