Heart Like Mine A Novel - By Amy Hatvany Page 0,20
happy?”
“No,” I said. “That’s not it.”
“Okay. Then what is it?”
“God, you’re pushy!” I exclaimed, throwing a sweater at her. It missed, and she grinned. I sighed again. “I don’t know. I guess I’m worried I won’t be any good at it. Being around the kids, I mean.”
“You were good with Sam,” she said.
“That’s different. He’s my brother. And I only had to help take care of him until he was ten and then I moved out. I might do okay with Max, but Ava is thirteen. I have no idea if I could relate to her at all.”
“Oh, right. Because you’ve never been a thirteen-year-old girl.” I gave her an exasperated look, and she adopted a softer tone. “You won’t know until you try. What is it you’re always telling me? And what do you tell your clients when they tell you how afraid they are to start their lives over again?”
She looked at me expectantly, her brown eyes open wide, and I laughed, shaking my head at her uncanny ability to use my own words against me. “No risk, no reward,” I said.
“Exactly. So I think you should quit your bitching and be grateful that you met a man who clearly seems to adore you. Let the details take care of themselves.”
It was good, solid advice, but still, in a weird panic, I canceled on Victor for our date that night. “I’m sorry,” I said when I called him. I was supposed to meet him in a few hours for dinner at the Loft. “I’m totally swamped with work.”
“It’s okay,” Victor said. “Can I help?”
I laughed, a little nervously. I wasn’t sure if he could tell that I was lying. “That’s sweet, but probably not. I have to build a spreadsheet of all the corporate donations Second Chances has received so far this year for our accountant. I’m getting carpal tunnel just thinking about it.” I did have to build the spreadsheet, but it wasn’t something I had to have done that night. Victor said he understood and would call me the next day.
After we hung up, I dropped to my couch, my gaze moving over the sandy earth tones I’d picked for my tiny living room. I loved this space when I bought it. With its coved ceilings and the huge square windows that looked directly out to the lake, it somehow managed to feel both cozy and spacious at the same time. I had decorated with small dishes of shells and smooth stones and hung my favorite black and white photograph of waves crashing against the beach over the fireplace. There were two luxurious cream-colored blankets thrown over the back of my couch and plush goose-down pillows thrown in the corners of it, as well. Everything about the room invited silence and calm. It was safe. Melody was right—I assumed Victor’s life was chaotic simply because he had children. But I didn’t really know this was true. I hadn’t even met his children. Backing away from him that night wasn’t about him—it was about me and my own fears. It wasn’t fair to either of us.
I reached for my cell phone and he picked up on the first ring. “If you need help writing a formula, you have called the wrong man.”
“I lied to you.” I blurted the words before I could lose my nerve. “I didn’t really have to work tonight. I’m just scared. I’m so sorry.”
He was silent for a moment, and I could feel my pulse pounding inside my head as I waited for him to speak. “What are you scared about?” he finally asked.
“That I’ll be terrible with your kids. That I’ll have to change everything about my life if this amazing thing we seem to have together goes much further.” I paused, trying to steady my pulse. “I’m being stupid. I panicked.”
“I don’t think you’re stupid,” Victor said gently. “And I don’t want you to change. I want you to stay exactly who you are.”
“You do?” The muscles that had been taut beneath my skin relaxed the tiniest bit. I thought men just said things like that in the movies. I hope he’s not feeding me a line.
“I do.” I could hear his smile through the phone. “And I’ll tell you something else. I really like who you are. Most women I’ve dated since my divorce were way too anxious to give Max and Ava a baby brother or sister, which is definitely not part of my plan.” He paused. “And I