It was a Friday morning, and Dolores’s fingers trembled as she opened the letter with the federal government postmark. It had been sitting on the table in her hallway all day, and she knew it could only be about one thing. When she read the first paragraph, she sank to her knees on her kitchen floor. “Six months,” she muttered, and the world spun as the darkness closed in all around her.

When she came to, her head ached, and everything was still spinning. She sat up slowly, rubbing the sore spot on her skull where it had made contact with the floor. After all that had happened, he’d only gotten six months. Even though her little cabin was cool, she was suddenly perspiring, and her heart was pounding beneath her ribs. Her breath came short and shaky.

“No,” she said out loud. “This is not happening again!”

Twenty minutes later, she was sitting on a barstool in a cocktail bar called Clementine’s, trying to figure out what she should order. She wasn’t much of a drinker, and on the few occasions someone had bought her a drink, she usually just had whatever they were having.

“It’s happy hour. 2-4-1,” the incredibly cheerful bartender told her.

“Okay, I’ll take that,” she said, pointing to the first drink on the cocktail list.

“Two margaritas coming right up!” he chirped.

The first one went down pretty well, and by the time she was half way through the second, the white-hot stab of injustice had receded to a fiery glow.

“Ten minutes of happy hour left,” The bartender said, coming over to collect her empty glasses.

“Thanks. I’ll just have two of the virgin mojitos.” She didn’t want to push her limits with the alcohol, because she hadn’t eaten much that day. She’d been feeling too nervous about the letter. Ever since she’d seen it in her mailbox that morning, her stomach had been in a ball, but she’d had the resolve to put it aside until the end of the day because she didn’t want any bad news to affect her performance with the children.

The mojitos were really good. As she sipped the first one, her mind wandered to Olsen. Why did he kiss me like he wanted to eat me alive, when he doesn’t even like me? Why did he say all that stuff to me? The same thoughts went round and round in her head, like an out-of-control fairground carousel. Suddenly she had to pee real bad. She slid off her stool, and felt a little tipsy. Good thing I switched to non-alcoholic cocktails.

Once she was back in her seat, her thoughts returned to Olsen. She missed him. Not the Olsen who was her diligent pupil, but the Olsen who’d been so kind and gentle to her when they first met, who’d saved them from the biker attack, and whose kiss had made her feel like a million dollars. Yes, she especially missed that kiss.

She started on her second virgin mojito. Her tipsiness made her thoughts and feelings feel a little blurry. She kind of liked it. She didn’t need to focus on anything right now. Instead, she stared into space and daydreamed about a tall, muscular man, with the sexiest wry grin on the planet. She felt that Olsen was a person she could be herself with. And she’d never felt that for a man before. She even felt she could share with him what happened in her previous life as she liked to think of it nowadays. Sexy, kind-hearted, protective Olsen. These are not good thoughts. I should probably go home right now, but as she waved to the bartender for the check, he was bringing her another cocktail.

“I didn’t order this?” she said.

“Courtesy of the gentleman sitting at the bar.” The bartender nodded in the direction of a guy sitting by himself.

“But I –” she began to say, but he was gone. She pushed the drink aside. The last thing she needed was anyone bothering her right now. She squinted at the guy at the bar. Unfortunately, he stood up and began to walk toward her table. But then, somebody else was also coming toward her. Somebody much taller and broader, with a very agile, purposeful walk.

“Olsen!” she exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”

His lips parted in his usual handsome grin as his eyes swept over her, taking her in.

“Just a lucky coincidence, it seems. The question is, what are you doing here all by yourself?”

“I – I’m just unwinding at the end of the week.” He gave her a suspicious smile.

“Okay,” she continued, slightly embarrassed at making herself sound like a seasoned alcoholic “I received some bad news today.”

His smile dropped immediately and concern distorted his handsome features.

“What bad news? Is everything okay with you and with your family?”

“Yes, yes, everything is okay. It’s... it’s a long story.”

“Well, it’s Friday night and we’ve got all the time we need for a long story. What would you like to drink?”

“It’s my turn to get you a drink,” Dolores said, calling the bartender over.

“Okay, but I’m ordering,” Olsen said with mock sternness.

The bartender brought over a bottle of beer, and a tall glass of transparent liquid. And that was the last thing Dolores remembered.