“Winter must be cold for those with no warm memories”

Halfway through Sleepless in Seattle, two women complain of the lack of romance in their lives while they watch Cary Grant and Deborah Kerr fall for each other in a version of An Affair to Remember edited to appropriately incorporate the conversations of watching love-starved women. The blonde love-starved woman watching is played by Meg Ryan and she begins the scene with an assured opinion that those were the days when people knew how to be in love. However many years it has been since and An Affair to Remember remains fondly regarded. So much so the AFI named it as the fifth most romantic film of all time, bettered only by Roman Holiday, West Side Story, Gone with the Wind and Casablanca, thus making An Affair to Remember the most romantic film to have a happy ending. Clearly, the American Film Institute believes the only way to prove true love is to give it up.

But really, American Film Institute? West Side Story and Gone with the Wind? The unsightly appearance of Shakespeare in Love at Number 50 suggests they had trouble finishing the list. And then there's Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf at 89? Did they even watch that? Still, Mills & Boon must have been delighted to see a Sheik make a showing. Please study this countdown in your own time because we will no doubt return to it shortly, once every title included has been watched.

For now our attention returns to Cary Grant, as it always seems to on wintry nights. For those not aware of An Affair to Remember, please allow Rita Wilson to ruin it for you. The film is actually a scene-by-scene remake of Love Affair, shot by the same director and using the same script. Cary Grant's accent takes on the role of a playboy, heading to the United States to meet up with his fiancée. On the boat he meets Terry, played by Deborah Kerr, and despite all odds, and rather at the story's insistence, they develop feelings for one another. Faced with the physical improbability of a life together, they agree to reconvene at the top of the Empire State Building six months henceforth, by which time both will have ended their relationships and he will have established himself as a professional painter. Plans naturally go awry and the audience must instead settle for forty five minutes of stubborn pride and plot machinations before the big scene in Terry's bright apartment.

Someone in Hollywood clearly realised that while we were tempted with the allure of a big romantic showdown atop the Empire State Building the potential went unsatisfied, and so in 1993 the forty-fifth most romantic feature-length English language movie with significant creative and/or financial production elements from the United States whose "passion" has enriched America’s film and cultural heritage while continuing to inspire contemporary artists and audiences was released. Jeff Arch had the idea and he called it Sleepless in Seattle. Nora Ephron and David S. Ward (him of The Sting fame, which is romantic in a different way) then worked on the script and Ephron, who had previously written When Harry Met Sally..., directed, even cajoling Rob Reiner into a cameo. All that technical nonsense is beside the point, however, as Sleepless in Seattle is a love story to define the age we live in, and more than makes up for the insipid drivel of You've Got Mail, which actually had more to do with the age we live in.

Recently reviewing Sleepless... for the eighth or ninth time Bewildered Heart noticed many a thing many viewers would have noticed almost immediately. First off, Meg Ryan's character is a journalist. How can she find love when it has already been made expressively clear that journalists do not have souls? Secondly, the first ten minutes of the story are redundant. The opening speech at the funeral, an odd ghostly fantasy and some scenes showing Sam at work are entirely unnecessary, as all this information is later incorporated into the film's inciting incident, son Jonah's call to The Frasier Crane Show and the convenience of Annie's listening in. It's curious to note that the main events in Sleepless in Seattle take place at major holidays. We begin at Thanksgiving, swiftly move onto Christmas and then briefly take in New Year's. When Annie and Sam glimpse sight of each other for the first time, there is a sign behind Annie's head saying “Closed For Labor and Memorial Day”. This may be considered a continuation of theme, but it turns out those days take place months later in the year. Things get back on track by the end, though, as the final scene plays out on St. Valentine's Day. It's more coincidental than curious, isn't it?

The set-up would suggest Sleepless in Seattle is Sam's story, but a sudden switch in plotting indicates Annie Reed is our protagonist. This is incorrect. The main character is Jonah, he is the driving force of the story and film's emotional centre, thus making Sleepless in Seattle a fuzzy and narratively misguided version of The Parent Trap, with Rosie O'Donnell taking the place of Precocious Twin #2, a role she was born to play. Yet Sleepless in Seattle is a homage to a remake. An Affair to Remember is referenced and quoted throughout. Despite having few similarities with the film, Sleepless... is inspired by the message of the original film and ends up not being a love story, but rather a nostalgic fairytale concerning the importance of believing in fate, following signs, not settling and knowing that true love is out there and will find you, thanks to a series of contrivances brought about by supporting characters.

An Affair to Remember contains a dramatic love story unfolding for the audience to become captivated by, with Grant and Kerr separated by will and misfortune. We watch because we know they belong together, we have been told they do through their scenes on the boat, despite those scenes being largely underwhelming displays of face-touching. Sleepless in Seattle has, at its heart, a sense of tension, as the viewer believes in something the leads do not. We believe they belong together, through a cosmic twist of fate, and the journey we go on stems from watching Ryan and Hanks catch on to what we have known all along. An Affair to Remember becomes infinitely more romantic, therefore, as the audience is allowed to take the terrifying leap into the unknown alongside the characters. We are lost, however, shortly thereafter, when circumstances over-take destiny and we are placed precariously back in our chairs, to see the resolution of how rather than if. Nora Ephron does not indulge the will-they-won't-they dilemma, withholding the relationship shenanigans and concentrating on the build up to the life-changing meeting. We leave the Empire State Building in safe knowledge this new family will at last find happiness.

The American Film Institute has strict guidelines for their potential entrants, one of which calls for 'a romantic bond between two characters, whose actions and/or intentions provide the heart of the film’s narrative.' Sleepless in Seattle creeps in barely, as no romantic bond is forged between the leads. Their potential boundless love belongs in the mind of the viewer. Sam only goes to New York to rescue his son, otherwise he'd have run off with the woman with the hyena laugh and gotten laid. His son only ran away to force his dad to go somewhere against his will. Annie only knows who Sam is through an invasion of his privacy. This is no film to define ones moral code by.

The Rosie O'Donnell character that Rosie O'Donnell always plays says, 'Men never get [An Affair to Remember].' The Rosie O'Donnell character maybe right, if we assume that the AFI poll was conducted solely by women. Nevertheless, An Affair to Remember is a pleasant enough way to while away one hundred and seventeen minutes, yet this can hardly be the fifth greatest example of romance in film history, discounting all foreign attempts. Their love isn't credible excepting the striking show of devotion the story culminates in. Perhaps that was enough. Take this essay as an example, a stirring and perceptive and challenging ending would have more than compensated for the superficial insights that had gone before it.

“A long time without sex combined with a sexy woman equaled sex”

As with all the greatest fiction ever committed to the remains of trees, A Few Good Men asked so many questions and offered few answers, allowing the reader to ruminate on such topics as the inevitability of fate and how lazy, nonsensical writing makes for infuriating reading. Would the Mills & Boon heroes and heroines find love with those they were already in love with when their stories began? Did the marines really have syphilis or was that just a strange coincidence that in hindsight made no sense? Would anyone else point out that Brian Justice's name was unfortunate? Would any lawyers notice the book used song lyrics without the composer's permission? Would the Revealing Briefs / Tight Shorts concept take off and will Bewildered Heart see any financial reward for those pithy choices of phrase? 

Tori Carrington wrapped up her A Few Good Men collection with a final good man and a brief prologue that turned out to be unnecessary. Most of the questions were handled with the typical intelligence and delicate use of symbolism the reader has come to expect from the Carrington Formula. What the Carrington Formula is, however, remains a mystery, but it would appear to work the same as every formula used by a Harlequin exponent: Pointless use of exposition to explain background that has nothing to do with propulsion of narrative, description of marine being handsome and tall, fleeting scenes of couple innocently touching, touching leading to interior monologue mentioning heat and electricity as metaphors for sexual heat and sexual electricity, home-owning is attractive, gratuitously detailed sex scene using embarrassing euphemisms, post-coital misunderstanding, inexplicable reaction to misunderstanding, staring from window, pointless explanation of character motives, kiss and hug set against sunset backdrop. Repeat four times, please don't make us read anymore.

Brian Justice chose a military career as an act of rebellion against the family business, and his decision to go it alone ended up being more literal than he might have expected. With his latest tour of duty completed Brian returns home without anyone waiting for him at the gate. He is surprised, therefore, to see a beautiful lady waiting for him at the gate. Her name is forgettable, and she works with orphaned kids, including a pale, red-headed, freckled tyke with a face that not even a mother could love. We know this because his mother really was unable to love him, thus explaining his abandoned status. Despite Brian's reluctance to become involved with anyone who isn't beautiful, Oscar, the kid in question, says he and his pals seek a few good men (as if this quote is where the author got the title). The children's centre wants to implement a big brother scheme and who better, they think, than state-sanctioned killing machines with post traumatic stress disorder? It's a rhetorical question, to add to the list that opened this blog entry. Brian is reticent, naturally, but soon changes his mind when the female stranger offers him key lime pie and no strings sex. After all, as Carrington so perceptively points out, a long time without sex combined with a sexy woman equals sex. Sex = No Sex + Lady. That sounds mathematical, so it must be true, and as Angela presses her panty-covered mound against his throbbing erection Brian is in no position to use logic against the author's flawless equation.

Shortly thereafter, Brian awakes from a nightmarish flashback to his time in Iraq and storms out of Angela's life without so much as a goodbye, thanks for the pie, two-sentence conversation and no-strings sex that actually did have strings attached because now they are in love with each other. Angela is dismayed and more than a little irked. As unlikely as it sounds she does not sleep with any old random man she meets and then has sex with. Oh no, she's a quiet, unassuming girl with a passion for cooking, helping children and being sweet-natured. It's not her fault that Brian is so damn attractive and tall. How was she to know he had so many traumatic experiences in his past and probable jail time in his future, thanks to all that murder of civilians he'd done? She was in love with him, but she's no mind reader!

Of course, that sounds suspiciously like cynicism and Angela does not deserve that. Mills & Boon novels have such little story and so much characterisation the reader cannot expect credible relationships between hero and heroine to boot. They should be satisfied with a sex scene, a tragic back-story and a walk along the beach. That's enough for this couple, as it is with real people. Brian and Angela soon patch up their differences, and bond over their shared desire to do right by Oscar and their fondness of expository dialogue in scenic locations. Yet before they can settle down to a few days of domestic bliss, Brian must face a military tribunal over his conduct during a house search. Brian is too nice and honourable to have killed anyone, besides all the people he has killed, so we expect the matter to be cleared up and naturally, it is thanks to the predictable return of Eric, Eddie and Matt. The brothers-in-arms speak on Brian's behalf, and clear his name, heaping blame on Lance Corporal Chris Conrad. He was the one who shot all those Iraqis, and why, because of those cursed energy soda drinks. Chris also appears to be a jerk. Why the most interesting person in the book has the fewest lines is baffling. Jerks giddied up on energy drinks ruin our every waking moment, surely it is only a matter of time before they invade the sanctity of literature.

We end, appropriately, with an epilogue, where we are reminded of the characters we were reading about moments before. Brian has someone to wave to when he boards the military plane. Matt's wife and children have accepted they must play second fiddle to his first love, persecuting Muslims. Eddie has his new job, whatever that was, and his baby and Megan. Finally, Eric... Well, you can assume Eric is alright. The only thing left to discuss, and we knew this was coming, is the soldiers' shared case of gonorrhoea, but as Tori Carrington glossed over that sub-plot this review must do the same. Nevertheless, Matt did not have it because he was married the whole time. But the other three, and why not, Chris too, they definitely contracted something out there, making A Few Good Men the first Mills & Boon book to have a sexually transmitted disease being passed around despite no actual evidence of such a thing occuring. That almost makes it worthwhile. Add that to the list of unexpected things that only happened in our imagined projection onto the page. Is anyone keeping that list up-to-date? Google?

“I could have been a burglar looking to expand my felony crimes to rape”

When writing a book of short stories the writer must always be wary of reader fatigue, a recently invented term for when the reader bores of the repetition of numerous minor alterations to the same scenario. It is, in many worrying ways, very similar to your experience reading this blog. Here we go again, you sigh while shaking your head bitterly and removing your trousers. Because of this, before under-taking the task of writing a romance novel the prospective author is recommended, by those who sell romance novels, to read as many as he or she can, over a hundred perhaps, until the structures, formulas and tropes become abundantly clear and they are fully immersed in the world, able to make those minor alterations to the same scenario which amounts to a career in romance fiction. While this might be the standard instruction, Bewildered Heart wisely recommends something much more attractive. You probably need to read two, three at the most. Read the second one to make sure the first one wasn't a fluke, some freak romance that escaped. If those two books are in anyway different read a third to understand which of the initial two was the typical fare. In all likelihood, of course, the first two will be so eerily interchangeable you will begin to believe you accidentally read the same book twice.

If you continue to read romance fiction after two or three books you will lose any of the passion for the genre required to write in the style to which you've grown accustomed. Speaking of losing passion, this brings us back to the matter at hand. We have almost finished with A Few Good Men, the quartet of stories by Tori Carrington, about returning marines and their tedious melodramas. After an attempt to enjoy the first two revealing briefs the old reader fatigue had indeed set in, especially considering the obstacles that our heroes had to overcome thus far had been frustratingly easy to surmount. Surely by the third character the exponentially-raising stakes would bring us our second most unlikely coupling. If this novel was a movie which was itself based on a novel, which it actually is, the third story would be Homer Parrish and Wilma from The Best Years of our Lives. Fortunately for anyone else foolish enough to read A Few Good Men, Carrington does indeed raise the stakes and our new hero, a strikingly tall and devastatingly handsome marine, must return home to the wife he loves and who loves him back. The only trouble this marriage has is in the time these lovebirds spend apart, which isn't a problem what with him now being home. Damn you to hell, Tori Carrington!

Yes, in a story redundant from the outset and clearly stolen from the least interesting of the Best Years of our Lives plot strands, Mateo Guerrero returns to the state this story takes place in, somewhere dreary, and finds his wife Ana more beautiful than ever, thanks to her new dancing hobby. However, Ana's new dancing brings with it a dance partner, a man Matt immediately punches in the face and never hears from again. Ana is surprised, but naturally aroused, by such negligent defiance. Still, for instantly forgettable reasons she is unhappy with Matt and forces him to sleep on a sofa. Yet no matter how angry Ana becomes with her husband she is “in complete lust with his penis” and soon joins him on the couch for some hot sex. That's the term these writers always use, hot sex. They don't use 'in lust with his penis' very often, mind. Everyone can only hope that is the first and last time they use that. Unlike the earlier episodes, Matt and Ana receive only five chapters, mainly because there isn't much to say about them. They still indulge in their two obligatory love scenes and we are even treated to a small bout of fellatio, because this twenty-year marriage is nothing if not completely credible. The happy couple have three children, but none of them are important enough to deserve a mention. Alright, a quick mention of the youngest, Teresa, whose nickname is Tete. Hah! Cubans.

The story concludes, suitably, with Ana deciding to stop being unreasonable and Matt agreeing to stop running away to Iraq every time home-life feels dull. Then Mateo leaves for the war-zone. All in all, a perfectly satisfactory short story, the kind written for those people who hate reading. It is concise and without any drama, tension or meaning with plot points introduced and then forgotten about by either the careless writer or the listless reader.

Moving thankfully onwards, the final installment involves Brian Justice, a man everyone calls Justice, because that's his name, and not because his character seeks justice and the author is an idiot. Having prematurely peaked into the pages of Brian's song, any remaining capacity for hope was certainly emboldened by something resembling a story. On the plus side Brian and his love interest have no romantic history. This makes their immediate love-making all the more incredulous, but we shouldn't have been shocked. After all, it is the end of chapter two and that's when the first sex scene always happens. This usual flippant disdain has turned sour, by the way, so you might want to brace yourself for the aftermath of our finishing. That's what Brian Justice says during sex. We didn't mean to imply Bewildered Heart wasn't enjoying A Few Good Men and will write scathingly about it once the remaining episode is read, because that was not what we wrote.

“Was he supposed to be feeling this way about the soon-to-be mother of his baby?”

Yes, if you initially believed that Eric was romantically-conflicted, what with being in love with his best friend's widow, wait until you hear the tale of fellow marine Eddie Cash. He's only gone and fallen in love with the girl who's carrying his baby. Holy cripes, Tori Carrington, how are you going to contrive a happy ending for this couple, especially in the unusually short space of time your novella structure allows? In the second part of A Few Good Men, Eddie Cash has given up being a soldier in the Middle East, astutely fearing for his own safety in that war-torn region. There are other matters that call for his presence back home in whichever state this story takes place in. Six months previously, whilst on a sojourn, Eddie met Megan, they had a short fling and this naturally ended with Megan pregnant and Eddie shipped off to fighting battles. Now, Eddie has a new duty and one he is determined to master, just like he had previously mastered carpentry, mechanics, being a marine, state-sponsored-killing, kissing, chivalry and love-making. The one thing Eddie seems incapable of, however, is not being an idiot, and so is unable to make Megan fall in love with him, despite her carrying his child and being in love with him. Megan works as a waitress, saving up the money she and her unconvincing mother need to care for the baby, even though Eddie sends cheques every month.

In chapter one, we meet Eddie, and he sounds rather handsome, tall and decent. Yet, as he arrives at the restaurant Megan gives him a rather curt brush-off. Persevering, Eddie convinces her to allow him to drive her home at which point Megan hungrily kisses him. Must be those cursed mood-swings making her act like a poorly-devised character. By the end of chapter two we're halfway through the first of two sex scenes. Well, of course, they're perfect for each other and in love, what's to stop them? Then Eddie buys her a car, builds her a house and pours her a copious number of cups of chamomile tea. But, Megan wonders, are these acts of kindness undertaken because Eddie wants to care for the baby, or does he secretly harbor feelings for the girl he impregnated, sleeps with and calls beautiful? Gosh darn it, Megan, you're right. He's a closed book written in a foreign language with invisible ink. Whatever you do, don't ask him, just ignore him and refuse to talk to him until he goes away. There's a smart girl.

Eventually, a long time after the reader has lost patience, Megan invites Eddie over for lunch, where he apologises for all the mixed messages he had been sending. He goes on to tell her he loves her. With Megan still unsure if he genuinely loves her, Eddie proposes marriage. Still unsure, Megan asks why they aren't living together if that's what he had wanted all along. Sensing the end most be close, the reader skips over the last two pages and reaches the last line, assuming everything worked out, because it always works out in Harlequin books. Thus, thank the Lord they somehow solved that one. There was a deep fear the baby might grow up without a father, but that was quickly replaced with a different fear for the baby, because Eddie is its father and Megan is its mother. The thrifty use of words in these Revealing Briefs is a major bonus, but Eddie and Megan's story was so straight-forward in its simplicity the lack of conflict appeared as sardonic mockery of the structure. After all, there wasn't much for these two characters to overcome, other than a rigid unwillingness to allow nature to take its course. With such little going on, in fact, it is safe to say we are done with the perceptive analysis.

Shall we move onto the over-arching narrative arcs hinted at by Tori Carrington, such as the bizarre conversations about prophylactics. You read that right, gentle reader. This is happening. In Eric's story, the first sex scene between the prospective lovers is broken by the following exchange as he, to use the author's terminology, 'sheaths himself':

'I'm... I'm on the pill.'

'My dad always told me that you should protect a lady.'

Well, this sounds perfectly normal. Given the choice a man will always insist on wearing a condom whilst making sure he throws in a casual reference to his father. Eric is only being a gallant gentleman, and subtlety implying that Sara is a slut. Therefore the second sex scene becomes all the more eye-opening:

'Whoa. Hold on a second while I get a rubber.'

'Can't... wait...'

And so, despite Eric's desire to 'protect her' this bout of hard length entering heavenly warmth takes place without the proper protection, and having done so, we find that nothing bad happens, or so we assume, because shortly thereafter the story ends and we won't pick up with these two until the very end of the novel, when all the marines will be brought back together to fight Brian Justice's wrongful court-martial.

Returning to Eddie and Megan, we are treated to an eerily similar discussion as Megan acts surprised when she sees Eddie, to use the author's phrase, 'put on a condom':

'In case you hadn't noticed, I'm already pregnant.'

'That's not why I'm wearing it. I want to protect you and our baby.'

Speaking as an innocent weblog who has learned about sex from reading Mills & Boon novels, this plot point raises serious questions about our heroes' sexual history. Despite their sterling reputations as romantic leads it appears Eddie and Eric might be hiding a sexually-transmitted disease. There seems to be no other explanation and the Internet Doctor agrees. Of course, this theory is under-mined by the second sex scene in both stories, both of which are carried out without a sense of control. But still, faced with the daunting task of two further stories in the quadrilogy, any dispirited reader should be willing to read on in the hope that a severe case of syphilis, gonorrhoea, chlamydia or other diseases we don't know how to spell may await our worthy heroines. Fingers crossed.

“The sun rose like a pale orange ball over the horizon, kissing the West Texas landscape like an indifferent lover”

Harlequin have recently begun a new romance sub-genre. Teenage Romance tells youthful stories of teenagers who have yet to acquire the neuroses and resentments toward the opposite sex that twenty and thirty-something characters are constantly thwarted by. When a thirty-two year-old divorced male, with rugged sexiness and a weary attitude towards relationships because of his previous fruitless and bitter marriage, meets a twenty-seven year old lady with shoulder length curly hair and bottomless emerald eyes sparks will naturally fly. When their instant attraction turns to emotional attachment the reader knows she is only one hundred and eighty pages away from the couple finding love, after some shenanigans known technically as the, We-can't-do-this-for-infuriatingly-unidentifiable-reasons-that-would-be-the-result-of-our-personalities-had-we-any-personalities conundrum.

Teenage boys can't be rugged, or divorced. Teenage girls can't have built-up mistrust of men because of a previous failed love affair. Teenage romance cannot end with marriage as that would be unrealistic. Pregnancy, maybe. Finally, for now, teenagers don't have characteristics and haven't been screwed over nearly enough to justify two hundred pages of dithering. Modern kids want everything immediately because of the instant gratification of MTV, Facebook and microwave cooking. Twilight was canny enough to add the supernatural element to undercut the noticeable lack of credibility to every one of Bella's decisions, but Mills & Boon authors face a tough battle in bringing honesty to teenage romance fiction. Fortunately for quality, September's releases include Past Midnight, the story of a teenage ghost-hunting girl. There is also Unraveled, a new mini-series from Gena Showalter about a teenage girl recently moved to Crossroads who falls for a werewolf whose girlfriend is a vampire. To further distance itself from a popular franchise no one is comparing it to the supernatural beasts of Unraveled have the ability to time-travel, raise the dead, possess minds and tell the future. For pity's sake, the world.

Still, it is a major achievement of this little web-log that as soon as we suggest a teen romance genre the Mills & Boon website claims to have had one all along, which no one would have seen if they hadn't been actively searching for it. Coincidence? Proof that people are starting to listen to Bewildered Heart? A mistaken belief that the genre only appeared after it was mentioned on the back of an article written about a successful book series that was first published years ago? Well, perhaps we were misguided with a slight sense of self-importance, but wait. There's more. We have, on many occasions, criticised the structure of a Mills & Boon for the limitations it puts on the author, and the harm it does to a novel when things such as challenging plotting are removed for the sake of minimizing word count. In turn, this causes a particular problem most of the books have. They are needlessly long and poorly edited, because complex narratives work against their ambitions. The story is reduced to its most basic simplicities and then stretched out interminably to the detriment of the characters' supposed intelligence and the reader's supposed sanity.

And so, there has been a call of sorts for the potential of romantic novellas. Appropriate names include Tight Shorts and Revealing Briefs. Scarcely had this rallying call been rallied than a Harlequin short story collection been published only a year before these words were first read by you, our only reader. This isn't so much coincidental as it is stealing ideas and the food from the mouths of Bewildered Heart's children. Tori Carrington is the pseudonym used by a husband and wife writing partnership, named Lori and Tony Karayianni, and this couple is merely the invention of a super-computer based inside a hollow mountain in West Virginia. The Sofie Metropolis series is also by Carrington and perhaps you know what that is. At this site we are more interested in their numerous Harlequin Blaze novels. One of their more recent attempts is A Few Good Men (Love that cover!), a linked set of four short stories, each concerning a male soldier on leave from whatever war the United States currently fights. In the prologue Cyprus is mentioned, and why not, there is probably an American military presence on Cyprus.

A helicopter brings the boys home for some R & R, which stands for relaxation and something else beginning with r. The men include Eric, Eddie, Matt and Brian. The book is then broken into four fifty page chunks, each dedicated to a male hero. We begin with Eric Armstrong, who has been communicating electronically with a mysterious gal who goes by the name Samantha, and Samantha has been leading Eric on a sexy dance until she learned he was returning home, at which point she vanished from the internet. Now safe on American soil Eric learns the name of his dream woman from an army computer whiz, and to his horror it is the one woman he could not believe it could have been, even though it seems entirely predictable that it could only have been her. Yes, Samantha is in fact Sara, the widow of Eric's best friend, Andy, who had died saving Eric's life during a war. Eric always harboured feelings for Sara, but could never act upon his urges. Now with his best friend dead and Sara freshly single, there is nothing to stop him except a moral code. Still, seeing Sara in the flesh, wearing a jumper, pushing strands of blonde hair behind her ear, patting a dog on a beach he is infatuated once more and determined to make her his.

Sara, widowed and doted upon by Andy's parents, has a little more to risk by beginning a steamy romance with Eric, but you wouldn't know it from the purple prose. They kiss within ten seconds of Eric's arrival and shortly after have fallen into bed, fitting into each other's bodies like it was meant to be and exploding with pleasure in ways left up to the reader's imagination. The next day guilt has returned and Sara and Eric cannot face their exploits or even themselves. Nevertheless, that evening they mate, their words, again only to break up when Eric asks Sara to follow him to Texas for the brief period before he returns to a battlefield. After a few days the narrative thankfully skips over, Sara does arrive in Texas and Eric's story is laid to rest, with merciful succinctness. There was bad dialogue, there were unlikeable characters with severe emotional dilemmas that were quickly overcome through the use of bad dialogue, there was a dog, there were two sex scenes and there was a happy ending where woman in car meets man on horse and they stare devotedly at each other, finally able to submit to domesticity. All over and done with after forty-nine pages, leaving the reader time to get on with the rest of their day. The rest of their day presumably involves reading the next part of A Few Good Men, entirely defeating the point of the short stories saving them time.