By the time Jolie re-entered the living room with the glasses, Adam was quickly moving away from the table.  The pile of poems seemed a little more disorderly than she had left it.  The one on top skewed a little off center as if it had just been replaced quickly.  Had he been reading it?<br/><br/>From the slight twinkle in his eye as he looked at her now, she felt surely that he had.  Which one?  She had no idea.  She had picked inoffensive, innocent ones -- she thought, but looking at that twinkle, she somehow knew suddenly she had made a mistake.<br/><br/>It was after all just pieces of paper, of which she had hundreds.  And out of the hundreds of poems she had, she had perhaps a dozen innocent pieces.  The rest were material she wasn't sure was fit for a man -- almost a stranger to examine, even a nice, normal seeming one like Adam.  Maybe especially a normal seeming one like him.  She thought she had picked three of that dozen, but her spine tingled with fear that she was wrong.<br/><br/>She needed to see as quickly as possible what poem was lying on top, without making it too obvious she was afraid.  She didn't want this normal, sweet man to think she had anything to hide, even if she did.  Which she did.  Things a normal man looking for a normal relationship would never understand.  Surely she hadn't betrayed herself by doing something as stupid as leaving a wrong piece of paper like some dark calling card on a coffee table on what, given her attire and the champagne, was clearly something of a first date even if neither would admit it.<br/><br/>She walked to the table with the glasses and set them down and quickly scanned the poem on top.  What she saw made her shake.  It wasn't an innocent one at all.  It was just as she feared.  It was a poem about the beginning of the end of her innocence.  Before she decided that being a good girl, at least in the conventional sense, was not something that was very important to her anymore.  A poem she wrote before she met Merrick Gray and her whole life changed.  It wasn't the worst poem she could have errantly picked to leave out in this man's view, but it was certainly tantalizing him with the possibility that she was deeper and more complex than he knew.  Something she hadn't really intended -- at least consciously.<br/><br/>What could she do but try to to hide the poem later and avoid the subject, maybe avoid poetry altogether.  She tried so hard to make her voice sound normal.<br/><br/>"Would you pour us some champagne?"  She hoped this time her attempt to contain her inner turmoil and conflicts was more successful than her attempt with the poetry.  She did not look him in the eye.<br/>