Page 67 of Don't Call Me Sweetheart

Or maybe…maybe I didn’t have to.

We had one more week together. Why hurt them with something that would literally not exist in seven days? If no one had told them by now, maybe no one ever would. Perhaps the people of Hart’s Ridge had more tact than I gave them credit for.

They were bound to find out eventually. Someone would slip or say something, thinking they already knew. But eventually was probably weeks away, maybe even months. By then, George’s commemoration would be done, and while he would still be in their hearts, he would no longer be at the forefront of their minds.

Maybe this was a good thing, actually. After these last two months with Max, I knew one thing for certain, and that was I was not cut out for a lifelong vow of chastity. No way. Which meant that someday, Maria and Juan would meet my boyfriend. It would be awkward, no matter what, but this way, if they had already found out about Max after the relationship was over, the news wouldn’t be so hard to take. It would ease them in gently.

Maybe it would ease me in as well.

Not just introducing a boyfriend to George’s parents, but the whole ending of it all. I had never had a breakup. Not really. Not one that mattered. There had been two boyfriends before George. One had lasted three weeks. The other had lasted four months.

And George…well, that wasn’t a breakup. That was a divorce that never happened, because a week after he told me he wanted to separate, he died. We’ll talk about it when I’m home, he had said. But he didn’t come home alive.

I had never had to deal with the actual end of that relationship. I hadn’t had to hear the whispers and rumors or run into him randomly with a new love or try to co-parent Jessica as divorced parents. I hadn’t had to watch Juan and Maria treat me as something other than a daughter, the love of their son’s life. I had managed to dodge the actual breakup part of our breakup.

So, no. I had never had a breakup that mattered.

But Max mattered.

Those high school relationships? They had ended because we didn’t like each other anymore. George had asked for a divorce because he didn’t like me anymore—or, at least, didn’t want to be around me. But I still liked Max. I wanted to be around him as much as possible.

This breakup was going to hurt. Even though that was exactly what we had been trying to avoid.

I didn’t know how to deal with that.

“I should be going.” Max shook hands with Juan and Maria. “It was good to meet you both.” He nodded to Kate’s mother. “Mrs. Locklear, always a pleasure. And Kate…” He gave me another long, searching look. “I’m sure I’ll be seeing you around.”

“Don’t forget what we talked about,” Dad said.

Max nodded. “I’ll take it under advisement.”

My eyes narrowed on my father. Just what had they talked about? And why hadn’t Max told me he would be here today? I felt ambushed.

“I’ll walk you out.” Dad placed a hand on Max’s shoulder, steering him toward the door.

I frowned as I watched Max walk away from me as though there was nothing between us other than the cordiality expected between a parent and a principal. As though he didn’t matter to me at all.

Mom came to stand by me. “You handled that exactly right,” she whispered.

Then why did it feel so wrong?

Chapter 23

Max

Kate was on her front porch, her legs tucked under a blanket and her hands wrapped around a steaming mug of something—tea would be my guess—when I arrived. She took a sip and then set it aside on the table next to the swing as I approached.

“You’re here,” she said.

The weight of my bag felt presumptuous as I hefted it over my shoulder. It was just some clothes for tomorrow and a toothbrush, the sorts of things I would need if I were spending the night. Which was what we had planned on, but that was before our awkward encounter at the golf course this afternoon.

“I wasn’t sure I should come,” I said.

She looked at me. “I want you here.”

And with those simple words, an epiphany hit me like a bright light exploding in my brain. The feeling that had been gnawing at me ever since my talk with her dad? It was love. I loved Kate.

I had never loved another person in my entire life. Not even my mother. Oh sure, I had cared about people, in a clinical, detached sort of way. I had wanted my mother to get clean. I had even wanted her to be happy, and the older I got, the less I had cared about whether her happiness included me. I cared about my students. I had cared about my girlfriends. I even cared about the well-being of colleagues and random strangers I met on the street.

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