Page 15 of Don't Call Me Sweetheart

“I’m serious. You don’t know what it’s like for me here.” She shook her head. “Hart’s Ridge isn’t a land of endless dating possibilities, you know. Everybody knows everybody. Once you’re out of school, there’s no one new left to meet, and who you were then is who you are now. Forever. And do you know who I am?”

I had a few ideas, despite not having known her long. She was the woman with kind eyes and a vicious slap. She was the woman who had cried during sex but stayed for cards.

She was the woman who had surprised me.

But I had the feeling the question was rhetorical, so I raised my brows, inviting her to continue.

“I’m the Widow of Hart’s Ridge.” She straightened her spine and spread her arms wide, as though introducing herself as the queen. “Small towns give a lot to military service—disproportionately, compared to cities, in fact. Hart’s Ridge is no exception, and they’re proud of it. I see George’s face every year on Memorial Day, with the others who died in service all the way back to World War I, on flags hanging off lamp posts. He’s the only soldier Hart’s Ridge has lost in the last thirty years. It’s a big deal.”

The cards lay between us. It was my turn, but my attention was fully centered on Kate, who was working herself into a gorgeous, understated fury. I couldn’t tear my eyes away.

“Everyone knew George. Everyone loved him. I was the screw-up who got pregnant, but he was the boy who stepped up to be a man, who provided for his family and served his country. And that was before he died. After?” She shook her head. “No one in Hart’s Ridge would disrespect his memory by dating his widow. To everyone in this town, I’m his wife. Forever. So, tell me. Who exactly am I supposed to have sex with? Random strangers stopping through? No offense, but I don’t think I can go through that again.”

I didn’t believe in regret any more than I believed in a higher power. What was the point? Looking back was a waste of time. All that mattered was pushing forward. But suddenly I was consumed with it. If I could turn back the clock to any point in my history, I would choose nine o’clock last Friday and give Kate Gonzales, Widow of Hart’s Ridge, the mind-blowing orgasm she deserved.

“Kate,” I said. “Just because someone built a box doesn’t mean you have to get in it.”

“That sounds like guidance counselor advice. Easy in theory, impossible in practice. What would you know about actually living it?” she challenged.

A lot, actually. But that was my business, and I wasn’t going to share it with her. Not because I didn’t like her or trust her or anything like that. I just…didn’t do that. Trade life stories and whatnot.

The timer rang, and we both looked at the cards. My pile was clearly larger. I smiled.

“Welcome to the girls archery team, Kate. I’m looking forward to seeing what you accomplish with them.”

She looked at the cards, annoyance flitting over her features. Then she looked up at me with a smirk. “I was always going to say yes.”

I smirked back. “I know.”

For the rest of the day, I thought about Kate and grinned or grimaced, depending which part of our conversation I was reliving. Her lollipop skirt that gave me ideas? Grin.

The realization that I had slept with the mom of one of my students? Grimace—with a mental note to check with the school board on fraternization guidance.

The look of annoyance on Kate’s face when she realized she had lost the round of cards? Grin.

The overwhelming regret that our encounter hadn’t at least given her an orgasm? Grimace.

It was a lot to unpack, between Kate and settling into my new life at Hart’s Ridge, which meant that I spent the first fifteen minutes of my virtual therapy session with Josh just catching him up on all the drama, a new experience for both of us. I wasn’t usually chatty.

Josh had been my therapist for seven years now, beginning in person when I was a teacher at a public school in Anacostia, Washington, DC, and shifting to virtual sessions as I changed jobs and locations every three years, and never, not once in all those seven years, could Josh accuse me of drama.

I made up for it now.

Josh buried his face in his hands and made a sound between a laugh and a groan. Fair enough. The circumstances called for both, in my opinion.

“So, what now?” Josh asked. “Are you going to see her again?”

I paused, remembering the scrap of paper I had once again slipped between the cards to mark where we had left off, just as I had the night in the cabin at Goat’s Tavern. The difference being that this time, she hadn’t asked me to.

And this time, I had wanted her to.

“Max?” Josh prodded.

“Of course I’m going to see her again. She’s the PTA treasurer and temporary archery coach. She’s the mom of a student.” I shrugged nonchalantly, as though it were all the same to me. When I deeply suspected it sure as fuck was not. “I’ll see her around.”

Josh wasn’t fooled. “I meant on a date, but I think you knew that. Though I can understand how the principal dating a parent would be a bad idea, so I’ll give you a pass on that one. Have you considered friendship?”

I stared at him blankly. “Friendship?”

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