She sighed. “The story with my family isn’t very interesting. After my mom died, my dad dated a lot. When I was little and cute, it was like every woman he brought home wanted to be my mom and I would get my hopes up every time. They never lasted long, so it was a constant cycle of getting my heart broken. When I got older, they treated me more like I was in the way, so I tried to be scarce. The library was my safe haven. I blamed the women for abandoning me for a long time, but when I got older, I could see they were leaving because my dad was charming but toxic. He probably would’ve been terrible to me too if he’d been interested enough to bother. I haven’t spoken to him in a long time and would be happy if I never had to again.”

“I’m sorry. You deserve better.”

Her smile was back. “It took me a long time to figure that out. I was midway through a psych degree before I felt like I fully understood how it had impacted me. Therapy would’ve been a lot cheaper.”

“Were you planning to be a therapist?”

“I was, but so much of how they traditionally teach sex and kink is really limiting and backwards. It’s a little better now, thanks partly to the popularity of Crown of Swords and all the conversations it’s started, but there’s a long way to go. We should be able to treat people’s issues surrounding their sexuality without treating their sexuality like it’s the issue.”

The gate to my driveway swung open. As we drove onto my property she grumbled, “Of course this is your house.”

I’d bought it for the view of the ocean, the quiet hiking trails nearby, and most of all, the way it was designed for privacy. It had been a while since I’d stepped back and thought about how it looked. I was uncharacteristically anxious as she took it all in. I wanted her to be impressed, but didn’t want her to think it was too much. It was a gorgeous house, but wasn’t obscenely huge by LA standards.

“I like it.” She smiled as we got out of the car and walked up to the front door. I usually went in through the garage, but took her the fancy way.

The marble floors of the entryway echoed as we made our way inside, revealing what I’d been told were “the clean lines and simple, modern decor” of the main living area. I’d hired someone to make most of the decisions, but there were personal touches here and there. The longer I’d lived in the house the more it had started to feel like home. At first, I’d felt like I was rattling around in a giant showroom, afraid to scratch the floors or mark the furniture.

“Come on, I’ll show you where you can put your stuff.” I lifted the heavy bag before she could protest and led her up to my room, opening the empty walk-in closet that was the size of a small apartment.