Page 84 of Don't Call Me Sweetheart

“Okay,” I said slowly, fear and happiness warring inside me, “but what if we could be something else?”

He looked at me.

“What if,” I said in a rush, pushing the words out before he could argue with me and tell me something I didn’t want to hear, “what if I told you I was scared? Because I had spent so long being what everyone else needed that I never stopped to ask myself what I actually wanted, just for me. What if I told you that what I want is you? What if I told you I was a coward, but love makes me brave? Could we be something else then?”

Max frowned. “Is that what you’re telling me?”

“Yes, I—”

But my next words were silenced by his mouth, because he moved for me then, grabbing me around my waist and hauling me against the muscular ridges of his torso, and he kissed me with such ferocity and need that my heart felt like it might explode with joy.

Maybe he was a little angry with me, judging from the heat of that kiss, but he still wanted me, and that was a very good thing.

I whispered his name against his lips. “I love you, Max.”

“Fucking finally,” he growled. And then he pulled back, just a little, his green eyes softening behind his glasses as he gently touched my cheek. “I love you so much, Kate.”

“I have wasted so much time feeling guilty for things I gave far too much weight to,” I said. “Somehow, I believed my mistakes made me undeserving of love. Which is so ridiculous, because I don’t ask anyone else to be perfect, and I love them anyway. I didn’t apply the same logic to myself. I think…I know this sounds silly, but I truly believed that if I could be the perfect widow, it would mean I was worthy of love in spite of…in spite of everything.”

Max caught the tear that trickled down my cheek and swept it away with his thumb. “Sweetheart, you were always worthy of love. Anyone who tells you otherwise has some inner reflection to do.”

“No one told me that,” I said. “It was something I told myself.”

“Lizard brain.” Max laughed a little and shook his head. “The lies we tell ourselves to keep us from getting hurt when it’s only the truth that can make us truly happy. If we’re brave enough to claim it.”

I captured his face with my hands, giving us nowhere to look except at each other. “You are my truth. I love you. And that terrifies me because I know love isn’t guaranteed. But I’m willing to work at it, with you. I’m willing to make mistakes and get hurt and try again. I just want to be with you.”

He nuzzled his nose against mine. “Good. Because I’m not going anywhere.”

That was the best thing I had heard all day. I melted against him.

“Tell me again,” he commanded.

I laughed, knowing exactly what it was he wanted to hear. “I love you, Max.”

“I love you, too.” He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and blinked. “Why does that feel as good to say as it does to hear?”

I didn’t have an answer. But I knew I wanted to say it and hear it every day for the rest of my life.

Epilogue

Max

Six months later, I signed my name on the signature line with a flourish, then grinned as I set down my pen. I handed the sheaf of papers to Patricia, who actually smiled in return.

“I’ll deliver these right away,” she said. “Congratulations, Principal.”

“Thank you, Patricia.” I checked my watch. Right on time. “Have a great weekend.” Leaving Patricia to lock up the office, I gathered my things and gave her a wave on my way out the door.

I found Jessica by her locker, packing her backpack. We didn’t always leave Piedmont together, because my workday as principal was a couple hours longer than her day as a student, but today was the fourth Friday of May and I had offered to take her to Juan and Maria’s house instead of them picking her up.

“Ready to go?” I asked.

“Almost, Principal Darlington,” she said because, six months later, she still called me that—at school. Anywhere else, she called me Max.

“I heard you’re sticking around next year,” she said as we walked to my car.

“That’s right.” I unlocked the door for her and waited until we both got buckled in and were heading to her grandparents’ house before I asked, “How do you feel about that?”

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