by Cara Bastone
Some people change your life
Others change your heart
Newly widowed dad Sebastian Dorner was unraveling at the edges—until his son’s teacher, Via DeRosa, threw him a lifeline. Now, two years later, they reconnect at Matty’s new school, and an inconvenient but unmistakable jolt of attraction crackles between them. But why does the first person to spark with Sebastian in years have to be a millennial? Is twentysomething Via really too young for him or does fortysomething Sebastian just feel too damn old?
A former foster kid, Via’s finally forged the stable life she’s always dreamed of—new job, steady income, no drama. The last thing she needs are rumors about her and a single dad at school. But why does she keep being drawn into his capable, worn-flannel orbit? And why does being around Sebastian, Matty and even their dog, Crabby, seem to spark so much want?
They’re trying to ignore the tension threatening their friendship. But sometimes what’ll heal you is just a touch—and a heartbeat—away...
Praise for Cara Bastone and Just a Heartbeat Away
“An utterly satisfying and delicious read. One for the keeper shelf!”
—Jill Shalvis, New York Times bestselling author
“Gorgeous, brilliant, with characters so unique and real they leap right off the page. It’s a master class in achy breaky yearning. Don’t start this one late at night unless you don’t need to do anything the next day except for pre-ordering the next one.”
—Sarina Bowen, USA TODAY bestselling author of the True North series
“Emotionally intense and real, Just a Heartbeat Away touches the soft place in your soul. Cara Bastone’s debut novel will warm you from the inside out and stay with you long after you finish the book.”
—Christie Craig, New York Times bestselling author
Also available from Cara Bastone and HQN
Forever Yours
When We First Met (prequel ebook novella)
Just a Heartbeat Away
And coming soon
Can’t Help Falling
Flirting with Forever
Cara Bastone
Just a Heartbeat Away
For Jon
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Excerpt from Can’t Help Falling by Cara Bastone
Acknowledgments
CHAPTER ONE
SEBASTIAN DORNER USED to be the kind of man who knew how to sit across a table from a woman. He used to know when to slant her a slice of white smile. He used to know when to unbutton the top button of one of his tailored suits. He used to know how to signal a waiter with two fingers and a slick nod toward an empty glass. He used to know how to lean across that table and brush soft hair back from softer skin.
But Cora’s tank of an SUV had gotten hit by some drunk college kid’s Camry, and she was gone. And Sebastian Dorner was gone, too. The car accident that had taken his wife’s life had sliced neatly through a tether he hadn’t realized he’d been leaning all his weight against. He was falling.
Had been falling for the last six months.
And now he wasn’t even the kind of man who remembered how to comb his hair. He scraped a dry palm over the back of his head and, glancing down, realized his shirt was misbuttoned.
True, there was a woman sitting across the table from him. But they weren’t in some swanky, dark bar. He couldn’t even get his knees underneath the preschool-size worktable. The sickening smell of graham crackers went straight to his gut. He’d been here ten minutes, and he hadn’t been able to raise his eyes to the woman’s face, let alone to the happy patchwork of art dotting the walls.
What if one of those drawings was Matty’s? He didn’t think he could bear to look at something Matty had created. The idea that his four-year-old son was living a life Sebastian knew nothing about was so brightly painful, he couldn’t move his gaze past the crayoned-up tabletop.
“Mr. Dorner.” Her soft, quiet voice was soothing, sure. But even silk sheets could scrape a sunburn. Sebastian was too raw for this. He was too nothing. Too nowhere. Too no one. “Thank you for coming today. I know... I know this is a really hard time for you and Matty.”
He grunted.
There. That was almost human. Somebody get out the gold medals.
“I wanted to talk to you about some things I’ve been noticing with Matty.”
That got Sebastian’s attention. His eyes shot up to the preschool teacher’s face.
“Is he all right?” Sebastian restrained his wince. What a dumb question. Of course the kid wasn’t all right. His mom had just died.
“Actually,” the woman—Miss Derossi? Miss Desposa? Something like that—said, “Matty is doing really well, academically. I’m sure you’re well aware of how bright he is. And creative! He made me a bracelet out of old crayon wrappers the other week.” She paused, like Sebastian might respond to that, but when there was nothing, she continued on. “And from a grieving perspective, he’s doing very well.”
Well? Was there any good way to grieve? He almost scoffed. “What do you mean?”
“I mean he’s a healthy kid. He’s not bottling anything up. He cries sometimes, gets mad sometimes, but more often than not, he’s playing and happy. He’ll talk to other kids, or me, about his mom. He’s done a lot of drawings of her, too.”
Sebastian grunted.
“But I’ve noticed a few things that have me worried.” She cleared her throat. “About you.”
Again, Sebastian scraped that dry palm over his unkempt hair. “Me?”
“Yes.” She shifted in her chair. She didn’t look uncomfortable or judgmental. That, more than anything, would soothe Sebastian when he would think about this conversation again and again in the months to come. “Mr. Dorner, Matty is showing some preliminary signs of neglect.”
Neglect?
She could have reached across the table and smacked his stubbled face and she wouldn’t have shocked him more. Neglect. The word was like a never-ending knife through his gut. Every time he thought it was done running him through, suddenly there was ten more feet of blade.
Neglect.
“I’m—I’m sorry?” He tried to clear the gruff out of his throat. “I don’t understand.”
Her dark eyes, the only thing he’d really remember about her appearance later, were calm and held his very steadily. “He hasn’t been showing up to school dressed properly for the weather, and his clothes are often...unclean. It seems like he isn’t bathing regularly, especially since he often shows up with yesterday’s paint on his hands and arms. And though I got him on the school’s lunch program, you haven’t applied for the scholarship help. I could get in trouble for allowing an unregistered kid to have a free lunch every day.”
Humiliation was a hot lick of flame from every side. It had been two months since Cora’s parents had headed back to White Plains. And his friends Mary and Tyler we
re a huge help, but they had lives; they couldn’t be there every single day.
How did I let this get so fucked?
There was nowhere to look. Nothing to say. All he could think about was his stupid fucking misbuttoned shirt. “He told me he always got lunch at school. I just thought...”
He trailed off because he had no idea what he’d thought. He’d trusted a four-year-old and never thought to double-check. Just like he’d trusted a four-year-old who’d said that Mommy let him wash himself and Mommy let him pick out his own clothes every day. He’d never double-checked any of it.
Neglect.
The word was out of the jar and it was so big, looming and leering, that he knew he’d never get it back in. That word was, apparently, his new asshole of a best friend. His life partner now.
And he fucking deserved it. He’d let his kid come to school with no lunch. Yesterday’s clothes. Dirty hair just like his daddy.
“Fuck,” he muttered into the dry hands that he’d dragged up to cover his horrified expression.
“I don’t know what you’re going through, Mr. Dorner, no one can. But I’ve lost people in my family, and... I know what it feels like to spin off into nothing.”
He glanced up. Was that what he was doing? Spinning into nothing? God. Sure felt like it.
“There were some things that really helped me get my feet back on the ground, and I made one of them for you.” She slid a piece of paper over to him and it was a shocking white to his stinging eyes. A bright block of accusation sitting there over top of the spirals of green and purple crayon on the tabletop.
Neglect.
It was a checklist. All the things he needed to do every day to take care of his son. A sharp gasp of shame had Sebastian coughing into his elbow. “What’s this?” He already knew.
“Just something to help you keep everything straight.” She leaned over and tapped firmly at each bullet point. “Three square meals with a snack after school. There should be at least one fruit and one vegetable at each meal. Even breakfast. Which, you know, breakfast vegetables are tricky for everyone so don’t worry about that so much. But definitely for lunch. He also needs a main course and a little side. Something to drink, too. I made a list of good options here, all things you can pick up at the grocery store. Or even have delivered. Now, do you use a laundromat? Or a washer and dryer at home?”
He just stared at her.
She plunged on. “Well, I included the number for a pickup/drop-off laundry service. I thought it would be a relief for a little while not to have to worry about it. They bring it back folded and everything. For bathing, these are some signs that your kid is ready to bathe by himself.” She handed him a pamphlet. “Although I don’t think Matty is quite there yet, so you should still be doing a lot of it for him.”
He sat there, numb and dumb, while she went through each point. There really was a remarkable lack of judgment in her tone.
He steepled his hands over his nose and mouth and leaned his elbows forward on his knees, so awkwardly tall next to the small table. “I can’t even imagine what you must think of me right now.”
She sighed and leaned back. “Mr. Dorner, you want to know what I think? I think that life is hard. And even harder when you’ve just lost someone. I also think that sometimes it helps for somebody to tell you what to do next. And this—” she tapped the checklist “—is what you need to do next.”
* * *
“MATTY!” SEBASTIAN CALLED down the hallway. “Carrots or zucchini?”
“What?” His four-year-old mini-me appeared in the doorway of the kitchen.
“Do you want carrots or zucchini in your lunch today?” It had been two months since his meeting with Miss DeRosa—he’d checked with Matty on her name—and Sebastian was really hoping that the rusty, cranking feeling in his chest was a sign that the gears were starting to turn. He slapped a dishtowel over his shoulder, swigged lukewarm coffee, and ignored the rib-deep exhaustion that had weighted him to the bed for an extra fifteen minutes that morning.
“I think you have to cook zucchini, Daddy.”
“Nah,” Sebastian said as he eyeballed the vegetable sticks he’d shoved into a Ziploc. “It’s like cucumber.” He snapped a quick bite of one of the extra zucchini sticks he’d just sliced and immediately spat it into the sink. “Yup. You’re right. Carrots it is.”
He slid the final item into the green cloth lunchbox and turned to his son. Sebastian’s brow furrowed.
“You’re in shorts.”
“So?” Matty puckered his blunt little face in a look that Sebastian recognized very well at this point.
“So, it’s February in New York.” He put the exact same expression on his own face.
“Fine. Pants.” Matty turned but quickly jumped back around. “But no mittens. Nonnegotiable!”
From his little four-year-old mouth the word came out much closer to “nah-nuh-goshe-bo.” Nonnegotiables were something that Sebastian and Matty had been talking a lot about over the last two months. It was a running list they kept. Things that they couldn’t argue over, no matter what.
Sebastian admitted that maybe they weren’t using the word completely right, but still, he liked the list.
Daddy home for dinner, bath and bedtime. Nonnegotiable.
Matty eats one green thing every day. Nonnegotiable.
We don’t talk about getting a dog again until Matty’s birthday. Nonnegotiable.
It was a good list. And the first thing had been the easiest to keep up with. Two months ago, Sebastian had walked out of Matty’s classroom and called his architecture firm. He was cashing in on the vacation he’d stored up over the last decade. It would be all used up fairly soon, and Sebastian wasn’t completely sure what he was going to do next, but for now, the only thing he was worrying about was Miss DeRosa’s checklist.
It was taped to his fridge. There was a fingerprint of tomato sauce in one corner, scribbled notes to himself all over it, words crossed out and added. It had been a lifeline for him. Guided him more than he ever would have expected.
It was a little cure-all. He wasn’t sure what kinds of things Matty should do after school? The checklist knew.
Playdates (arrange with other parents at school)
Children’s museum (if he likes it, invest in a membership)
The library (Matty can even get his own library card!)
No more than half an hour of TV each day (anything on Netflix Kids acceptable)
And on and on. It was a single sheet of paper, but, to Sebastian, it was a roadmap that he never planned on deviating from.
Also taped on the fridge? The number for a grief counselor he’d seen for the first time last week. Sebastian’s skin had shrunk two full sizes while he’d sat in the pastel waiting room. If he’d learned one thing from his meeting with Miss DeRosa, it was that he had no desire to be blindsided by another grown-up again. So, he’d rehearsed what he was going to say to Dr. Feldman. Rehearsed it. Like a play.
Feldman had seen through it in about four seconds and Sebastian had left the office with four inches of pamphlets, permission to hire the occasional babysitter, and the distinct feeling that Sebastian Dorner was currently trapped inside someone else’s life.
Matty appeared back in the kitchen in jeans and a Captain America zip-up.
“Mittens can’t be a nonnegotiable,” Sebastian told his son. He chuckled at the immediate outrage that bloomed over Matty’s face. That was new. The chuckling. It was too new to feel good yet. “But how about this? No mittens if it’s more than forty degrees outside. That’s reasonable.”
“What’s the temperature right now?” Matty asked suspiciously.
“Check for yourself.” Sebastian nodded his head toward the window thermometer they kept. He knew Matty could read it. Kid was smart as a whip. “Hey, is Miss DeRosa still
checking your lunch?”
“Sometimes. It’s forty-two degrees!” Matty pumped one triumphant fist in the air and had his dad chuckling again.
“All right. Make sure she checks it today.”
Sebastian scrawled a few words onto a torn piece of paper and tucked it against Matty’s juice box.
That night, when Sebastian’s shirt was wet across the chest from Matty’s bath and his son was soundly snoozing in his room, Sebastian unpacked the lunchbox. He found the same crumpled piece of paper he’d sent that morning.
There was his own cramped chicken scratch writing: How am I doing?
And then there was a drawing that she’d done, this Miss DeRosa. It was of a stick figure hitting a ball out of a baseball park. The stick figure was labeled you and the ball was labeled life.
Sebastian’s face pulled into a surprised laugh.
He was knocking life out of the park. Well. Imagine that.
Without thinking too much on it, he went ahead and taped that up on the fridge, too.
CHAPTER TWO
Two years later
SEBASTIAN COULD NOT believe he was scrolling through a dating app. What the hell was his life? He tossed the phone to the side and tipped his head back on one armrest of his new couch.
“Come on, you can’t give up that easily,” Tyler said as he sauntered back into the room. He handed Sebastian a beer and tossed his feet up on the coffee table as he plunked into the recliner.
Sebastian recalled the horrifying last hour of his life. Choosing a profile picture. Distilling his life into a handful of words and a—sweet Jesus—smattering of emojis.
You call that easy?
Tyler and Sebastian had met in kindergarten and hadn’t questioned a good thing. They still didn’t. They disagreed more often than they agreed, but they’d drink poison for each other if it came to it. Hell, Tyler had even moved back to Brooklyn after Cora had died. He’d claimed that he was just done with LA, but Sebastian knew that his friend had come home for him and Matty.
