Page 208 of Unexpected Heroine

“Yes.”

“Is your grandmother still alive?”

“Yes. She’s in Climax.”

Simone’s face blanches over comically while her mouth and eyes widen to the size of oranges.

“Sorry for dropping the name of my hometown on you like that. It’s usually better to build up to it and let it come gradually. It’s a small town in Georgia. In between Arousal and Letdown.” I snort into my hand.

Freaking nervous energy always makes me say dumb shit and think I’m funnier than I actually am.

“Sorry again. Kidding. It is the name of my hometown, though.” I cup my hands over my rapidly warming cheeks.

Her laugh is a bit bigger this time, easing my embarrassment a tad.

Once I can meet her eyes again, she asks, “Your biological father wasn’t in the picture?”

Two husks of a morose chuckle escape me, followed by a lengthy groan. “No. Papa said he died on a deployment in Afghanistan.” I can’t hold back my eye roll and clicking of my tongue.

“Why do you say it like that?”

“Because surprise! He’s alive.” I flash jazz hands because it’s clearly what the situation calls for. “My father lives in Clearwater, believe it or not. I only found out a few days ago.” I glance at my non-existent watch. “How long is this session going to be? We’ve got a lot to cover to get you up to speed.”

A full ninety minutes later, I’m getting twitchy and ready to go. Simone looks like she’s about to tap out. Perhaps out of this line of work entirely. Can’t blame her. I’m a bit much.

If she doesn’t type up her resignation letter the moment I leave, I’m sure she’ll think twice before giving me free rein of a session again. I suspect her questions for me will be more direct when we meet again tomorrow—yes, we’ll meet daily. I’m not mad about it either. This is why I came here. For professional help putting my life together. And I like her.

After a break in the conversation that goes on a bit longer than the rest, she smiles warmly. “Well, I think we’ve built a nice foundation for our work together. Don’t you?” She reaches behind her, pulling out a bowl of M&Ms and offering it to me.

Naturally, I decline.

“Watching your figure?”

“Nope.”

Her brows lift in sharp arcs, highlighting how perfectly groomed they are. “If you don’t have a sweet tooth, what can I get for you instead? I always like to end our sessions with a little treat. A reward. Nothing too crazy. Therapy is hard work. I don’t want to create an unhealthy coping mechanism, but a little treat is nice.”

“Treat yo’ self,” I joke.

“Exactly.” Her smile fades. “So what would you like for your treat? Within reason, I’ll try to get it here tomorrow.”

“Nothing. I’m fine.”

I don’t need a reward for therapy. Getting better should be enough of a prize, right?

She sets the bowl on the coffee table and refolds her hands in her lap. Her face sobers, all traces of humor or amusement evaporating almost instantly. The entire session felt like I was talking with a friend. She let me ramble on about my life story, laughing a few times at my silly Lettieisms and southern phrases. That vibe has certainly shifted. While it’s a tad unsettling, I don’t feel any fear since she’s the most nonthreatening woman on the planet.

My head juts forward, lowering slightly. “Did I do something wrong, Simone?”

“No, sweetie. Remember how I told you there were no wrong answers or reactions? I meant it.”

“Then why the vibe change?”

She sighs. “To be honest, I got a little sad.”

“Therapists have feelings?” I tease, avoiding the pressing question of what suddenly made her so sad. “If you want me to have a treat so bad, just say so. I’ll take some stickers. Gold stars, please.”

Ignoring my joke, she asks, “Did you eat today, Lettie?”

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