Page 47 of No More Heartbreakers

“Maybe a little.”

“AndI think you’re really good. You have such great potential. I just thought I might be able to help. I hope you’re planning to send your reel out soon.”

“Thank you. I will. Soon. A few more stand-ups, a couple more shows of anchoring and I’ll re-edit it. Thanks for your help this weekend. I couldn’t even have begun to do it all without you. I wish I could repay you somehow.”

Aric seized me with an intense stare and paused as if he was about to suggest something, but he kept his mouth shut and sniffed a short laugh.

“Not necessary. Well, goodnight, Heidi. Enjoy your days off.”

“Yeah. You, too.”

THIRTEEN

Station Policy

Once it had occurred to me, I couldn’t get the idea out of my head all week long.

Aric had been so generous to me, even when I’d acted inexplicably hot-then-cold toward him. I wanted to do something nice for him, too, to even the score. I hated feeling like I owed him something.

The perfect idea came to me while watching Thursday night’s sports segment.

Yes.Yes, yes, yes. He would love it. And it was so huge, it would totally pay him back for the vocal exercises, relaxation technique advice, and photography help.

I picked up the phone and set up an interview for Sunday afternoon then went into the weekend assignments file on the newsroom computer system to block out a segment of time in each of our schedules.

* * *

“Not even one little hint?” Aric rode shotgun as I drove the news car to Athens on Sunday.

“Not even one. You’d never guess anyway.”

I smiled at the perfect timing of my surprise. The day before had been busy for us both, which was good considering the new tension that seemed to live between us.

Aric’s Saturday had been particularly hard thanks to the Bulldogs’ loss on the football field and the resulting short and gruff answers from the players and coach in the post-game press conference.

Three words and a glare was the most any of the reporters had gotten from Coach Barlow.

I drove to the Georgia Club, a beautiful, well-manicured community of upscale homes on a large golf course near Athens.

Pulling the news car into a wide, cobble-stone circular driveway, I parked in front of a gracious brick home with wrought iron lined balcony and statuesque columns.

“Wow. Who lives here? A pro-athlete?” Aric asked.

All I did was smile. He stared at the house and appeared to be wracking his brain for a list of likely sports stars from Georgia.

“You’ll see,” I said.

We got out of the car and opened the trunk. I looked up at him apologetically. “I know I’m the photog today, but if you don’t mind carrying the gear, it’ll go over better with our interview subject. He’s kind of old-fashioned.”

“Of course—you know I want to carry it anyway. Okay, soretiredpro athletes…”

Aric continued his guessing game as we walked toward the house. “I know it’s not Herschel Walker. He lives in Texas now. Terrell Davis? I know he played here in college.”

“Nope. Just hold your Kentucky Derby racehorses there, mister. You’ll find out.”

We climbed the front steps and pushed the doorbell. Chimes rang through the stately home while we waited on the wide, columned front porch.

The wooden door was opened by a gray-haired man in a golf shirt and shorts, both emblazoned with the UGA sports logo.

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