Helga issued that rude sound again. Before stalking away, she said, “Keep what God gave you.”
To Simon, Chloe said, “I think God could have been a little more generous in certain areas and, well, spread the wealth in others, if you know what I mean.”
“You wouldn’t look good as a blonde.”
She frowned. “I thought you liked blondes? The last three women you dated all looked like they just stepped out of the California sun.”
True enough, he realized, although it hadn’t been intentional. They’d been available and interested and, well, since he’d been available … He didn’t like how that made it seem, though he’d never pretended to have deep feelings for any of them. Nor had he made any promises.
He wasn’t his father … a man who made promises, vows even, with the ease of a politician, only to break them, as wives one through five could attest.
“Simon?” Chloe was staring at him.
He pulled himself back to the present. “Your coloring is all wrong for blond hair. You’re too fair.”
“That can be changed, too.”
He didn’t like the glint in her eye. “Please tell me you’re not thinking about tanning again. Remember what happened before senior pictures.”
She shuddered, making him sorry to have brought it up. She’d gotten the bright idea to lie under the heat lamp her grandmother kept to warm new litters of Persian kittens, and had wound up burned to the point of blistering on her cheeks and the bridge of her nose.
“Not tanning per se,” she murmured, but before he could question her further, she asked, “Will you be going for your usual run tomorrow morning?”
He frowned at the change in subject. “Why?”
“I was thinking of joining you.”
He couldn’t help it. His brows shot up. “Are you going to run?”
She wrinkled her nose, a sign she was insulted. “You don’t need to look so shocked. Haven’t you pestered me since Nana’s heart attack to do more cardio conditioning?”
He had indeed, worried that Chloe’s addiction to comfort food might take her down the same hardened-arteries path as her seventy-four-year-old grandmother. But he knew Chloe’s sudden decision to listen had less to do with his persuasive abilities than their upcoming class reunion. He almost called her on it. But the truth was, he liked the idea of having company during the runs he took four mornings a week.
“We can meet in the park at eight,” he said after a moment.
“Great.”
Her smile lasted until Helga arrived with their food. The cream-cheese-laden bagel beckoned. The way she swallowed before sucking in her bottom lip told him as much. Whoever had been manning the knife in the kitchen had been generous with the topping.
“Anything else?” Helga asked, her meaty hands resting on a pair of what Simon remembered a great-aunt referring to as good child-bearing hips.
No way he was going to point out that his so-called fresh fruit cup looked suspiciously like the syrup-drenched cocktail variety that came in a can.
“No. We’re good.”
More than half of the bagel remained when Helga brought the check. Chloe considered that a victory of the highest order. She’d actually sat on her hands to keep from finishing it off. Whatever it took, she was willing to do it. She had her eye on the prize.
“You promised me a walk,” she reminded Simon.
“So I did. And I never renege on my promises,” he replied. He always looked surprisingly serious when he made comments such as that, and now was no exception. “Do you have a destination in mind?”
“How about that little bookstore just off Fifth? We haven’t been there in a while.”
It was one of the few independent shops of its kind left in the city. And while Chloe had nothing against the big stores that held every title and obscure periodical under the sun and housed trendy cafes where patrons could get a good, if pricey, cup of coffee and read their purchases, she was especially fond of this place. It was the clear underdog. Chloe knew how that felt.
“Sure.”
CHAPTER THREE
The girl most likely to obsess …
IT TOOK FORTY-FIVE minutes to get to Bendle’s Books, but only because Chloe stopped to do a little window shopping along the way.
“What do you think of that dress?” she asked, pointing to a clingy black number draping a mannequin that was wand-thin and eerily faceless. She turned to Simon expectantly, only to find him frowning.
“On you?”
“No. On the mannequin. I’ll be sending it to the reunion in my place,” she snapped, even though she was a little more wounded than irritated by his dubious tone. It didn’t help that the dress undoubtedly did look better on the faceless and tummyless dummy.
He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “It’s kind of … revealing.”
“And you think I’ve got a little too much to reveal at this point, is that it?”
“No, Chloe—”
“I’ll be thinner by then. The reunion is six weeks away. If I lose two—okay, more like three—pounds a week, I’ll be able to pull off that dress.” Especially if she threw in regular toning workouts and shape wear. She mentioned the exercise to Simon, but not undergarments, adding, “You’re always after me to get healthy.”
“I want you to eat more balanced meals and exercise more often. I don’t think you need to lose weight, at least not by going on some kooky crash diet.”
She brushed off his reply and started walking. “It’s not kooky.”
He fell in step beside her. “Excuse me?”
“I’m not going on a kooky diet. I plan to eat sensibly, just smaller portions, and cut out comfort food entirely.”
“Entirely?” Again the dubious tone.
“Last night was it. No more mac and cheese for me and no more ice cream.”
“And bagels? What about those?”
“Today was an exception. What was I to do? Helga plopped that thing in front of me. I didn’t eat it all,” she reminded him.
“You showed admirable restraint.”
“I thought so, too.”
But her restraint took another beating when they passed a pizzeria and the smell of melted mozzarella cheese and spicy Italian sausage wafted out the door along with a satisfied-looking customer. She swallowed, not out of despair, but because her mouth had actually started to water. Why couldn’t broccoli smell like that?
“Maybe at the bookstore I’ll be able to find a cookbook that includes some of my old favorites, just with a lot less fat and fewer calories and carbohydrates.”
It was a tall order, to be sure. But hope sprang eternal.
“You could just log on to the internet, you know. A couple of keystrokes and thousands of recipes would be at your disposal.”
He would know, tech geek that he was. Chloe shook her head. “I like books. I like holding them in my hands and flipping through the pages. Besides, when I download free recipes from the internet, I don’t get to see Millicent.”
Millicent Cox owned Bendle’s. Although her daughter was largely in charge of the quaint little store these days, Millicent was a fixture behind the counter on weekend