Page 25 of No More Heartbreakers

“It’s true, sweetheart,” Mom agreed. “Sometimes it’s hard to recognize when the right thing’s right there in front of you because you’ve been looking at it for so long.”

“I don’t know—I think Hale’s kind of a stiff,” Benji interjected. I shot him an appreciative glance.

“Hush your mouth, Benjamin. Hale has been nothing but a gentleman. And how many times has he taken you boys hunting and fishing? For shame,” Mom scolded. “I only hope each of you grow up to be as fine a man as he is.”

I ate in silence, fighting the urge to roll my eyes—not about Hale being a fine man, but about the worshipful tone they always used when discussing him. I understood why they loved Hale.

Really I did. He was lovable. He was handsome and kind and stable. He cared about my nutritional needs.

But the thing was—I was doing okaywith this break. I mean, I hadn’t asked for it, but since we’d been apart, I’d been feeling sort of light… free, as if a giant clamp had been removed, relieving a pressure I hadn’t been aware of before.

I wasn’t sure what that meant, but I certainly wasn’t going to figure it out here at Team Hale headquarters.

“I don’t think I can eat any more. It was delicious, Mom.” Pushing away from the table, I carried my plate to the sink.

I was sick of living a life-by-family-vote. The only solution was getting a better-paying job, and the tiny salary bump I’d gotten with my promotion to weekend anchor wasn’t even close to enough.

Which put me right back where I’d been for most of the day—thinking of Aric.

He’d offered to share the vocal exercises to help me banish the Southern drawl. He’d offered to show me some pre-show relaxation tips that might keep me from tossing my cookies every time I had to go on live.

He’d offered to shoot video for my reports in exchange for my helping him shoot his own stand-ups.

The more I thought about it, the more it seemed like Aric Amore was the answer to getting the hell out of this town and off of my parents’ welfare roll. No matter how inconveniently attractive he might be.

And for God’s sake, I was a grownup. I’d lived and learned.

I wasn’t—wasnot—going to make the same mistakes again, so whycouldn’tI take Aric up on his offers and finally start making progress toward all the things I’d been saying I wanted?

EIGHT

Rescue in the Rain

I thought of calling him all day Tuesday. Thought about it but couldn’t actually do it because I didn’t have his number.

If I had, I might have suggested getting together somewhere and going over the vocal exercises, maybe suggest a place to get some of that Southern food he’d been wanting to try.

It was probably for the best I couldn’t reach him. It was his day off. He might have been unpacking, catching up on his sleep, whatever. But by the time Wednesday afternoon rolled around, I couldn’t wait to get to work and talk to him.

My first stop when I got to the station was the bathroom. The rainy weather had defeated all my efforts with the straightener, so I fished an elastic band out of my purse and conceded the battle, pulling my hair back into a long ponytail before heading to the sports office.

Aric was watching the regional sports feed, selecting highlights for the sports show when I got to the newsroom. He was alone—Dennis must have been out on a story.

Video from a hockey game was on the monitor, and Aric looked like he was actually writing down the time code, intending to use it.

“Um, hate to tell you this, but nobody cares.”

He spun in his chair to face me. A wide smile spread across his face. “Nobody cares about what?”

“The P-Bruins versus…” I stepped closer and squinted to see the jerseys on the frozen screen. “Who’s that other team?”

“You know the Providence Bruins, but you don’t know the Charlotte Checkers?”

“Never heard of them and neither have ninety-nine point nine percent of the viewers in this area. I’m telling you—nobody cares.”

He ran a hand through his hair and scrubbed it back and forth. “Well, it’s the best I’ve got. Minor league hockey and baseball are the only things even close to professional sports in this area. We can’t fill an entire eight-minute sports segment with Georgia football highlights.”

“If you want anybody to watch—you might consider it. I’m not sure you’ve quite yet grasped the level of fanatical devotion we Southerners have to our college football.”

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