Page 106 of No More Heartbreakers

Colleen and Aric made happy-talk on a two shot then the camera went to a tight shot on Aric.

He looked a little rough—andexactlylike a guy who’d spent the previous night drinking heavily and boinking a beauty queen.

His clothes and hair were perfect, of course, but dark smudges underlined his eyes, and his usual compelling energy was noticeably absent.

I called again several times before the ten o’clock news, but again he didn’t pick up.

Okay, he doesn’t want to talk to me.How obvious did he have to make it?

Well, he wouldn’t be able to avoid me on Wednesday when I got back from Nashville and we both went back to work. Then we’d no doubt have a reversal of our original roles, with me begginghimto get together and talk, and him blowing me off.

The thought of it sent a twisting pain through my heart.

Too bad. I’d find a way to talk to him anyway. I wasn’t going to give up on us until I’d really given it my best try.

No more fear.

TWENTY-SEVEN

The Ultimate Stand Up

When I arrived at work Wednesday afternoon, the station looked different to me, smaller and more dear.

I had a heightened appreciation for WPVG and all I’d learned here. I might not have much longer to spend in this crappy little underfunded, outdated, wonderful old TV station, and the thought was surprisingly bittersweet.

There was no official offer from Nashville yet, but the interview and audition had gone extremely well, and the news director had sent me home with a bag-full of WKRN promotional material—a t-shirt, hat, pens, notepads, magnets.

He’d also called to make sure I’d gotten home safely yesterday and told me again how much he hoped I’d enjoyed my experience there. Things were looking good.

Entering the newsroom, I went straight back to the sports corner to look for Aric. He could avoid my phone calls, but he couldn’t avoid me if I was standing right in front of him.

I stopped short when I rounded the corner of the last partition. Aric was there but not alone.

A middle-aged man was with him—tall, fit, olive-skinned and handsome with a head full of thick black hair (maybe a shade too black).

He must have caught motion out of the corner of his eye or either was reacting to Aric’s notice of me, because he turned toward me and broke out in a beautiful, friendly—and a bit lecherous, if I’m being honest—smile.

“Hi.” I raised my hand in a weak wave.

“Well, hello,” his smooth voice greeted me. He turned to Aric. “Son, why don’t you introduce me to your friend?”

Oh—it was Aric’s dad.

Now I could see it, not in the coloring, but in the graceful way he moved, the fabulous smile, the incredible facial bone structure.

Aric looked extremely uncomfortable, and of course the situation was beyond awkward. We hadn’t seen each other since that mind-scrambling kiss Friday evening before my disastrous date with Hale.

“Uh, Peter, this is Heidi, my… co-anchor. Heidi, this is my father, Peter Amore.”

Peter was already moving toward me, taking my outstretched hand between both of his in an engulfing embrace too intimate to call a mere handshake.

“Wonderful to meet you, Heidi. Are you one of those Southern peaches I’ve heard so much about?” He winked.

It took me a minute to respond to the odd question.

“Oh, uh, well, I think you’re referring to a Georgia Peach, which is what, um, people sometimes call girls from our state. So, yes, I am from here. Welcome. How long are you here visiting?”

“I’m sorry to say I’ll be leaving tomorrow. I flew in on Monday, and I have to get back to New York for work. That’s why I’m here checking out Aric’s new job situation today. It’s too bad we won’t get to spend more time together.”

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