T-shirt and grinned at what she must’ve thought was a lighter. He plucked out a roll of candy. “Only if you can smoke Pez. Want one?”
“Ha! A grown man who still eats Pez candy can’t tease me for using kid words like ‘dork,’ ” she informed him smugly, peeling two off the roll he offered.
His lips twitched. “My other vice. I’m an addict; carry them everywhere I go.” Tucking the candy back in his pocket, Howard grabbed the sack and dug inside, fishing out four six-inch subs, four small packages of potato chips, and two bottled waters. “Ham or turkey? I got two of each.”
“Turkey’s fine—good Lord! Who’s going to eat all that food?”
He grinned at her. “Hey, I’m a growing boy. Gotta have fuel to deal with whatever life throws at me.”
“And you work out a lot.” Her eyes raked his body with appreciation. “How often?”
“Pretty much every night,” he said, handing her a turkey sub. Then realized he’d blundered.
“At night?” Kat glanced at him, curious, as she peeled the plastic wrap from her sandwich. “Don’t most people go to the gym in the morning or during the day?”
Setting Kat’s chips and water bottle on the jacket next to her, he scrambled to come up with a plausible reason for his odd schedule . . . other than the whole whacked-out truth. “I work twenty-four hours on shift, forty-eight off. During the days I’m on, we’re pretty busy, so it’s easier to work out in the evenings when things are slower. At home, I have equipment in one of the spare bedrooms, so I can hit the mats whenever I want. Or I can go to my health club for a change of scenery. Easier just to stick with my routine, though.”
Not exactly a lie. Still, it made him sound like sort of a fitness fanatic, one of those pretty boys who spent hours obsessing about staying buff, when nothing could be farther from the truth.
Problem was, the truth led right back down the dark and dangerous tunnel he’d been running from his entire life. And getting close to any one person meant sharing a nightmare not even he could fully understand—assuming he wanted to understand, which he didn’t.
“Good for you. I tried an exercise plan, three days a week for about six months. Weights, jogging, the whole deal. Finally gave up the ghost.” She opened her chips and took a bite of her sandwich.
“Yeah? How come?” Ravenous, he followed suit, glad to have dodged a bullet.
“Didn’t make a difference,” she said, chewing thoughtfully. “I can drop pounds, but I can’t change my body shape. I can be dry and round or sweaty and round. I don’t like to sweat, end of story.”
Uh-oh. Discussing a woman’s weight wasn’t a bullet. More like a rocket launcher.
Aimed at a man’s balls.
Shrugging, he said, “You don’t have to sweat to stay in shape. Something simple as a daily walk will do, especially for you.”
Arching a tawny brow, she eyed him in suspicion. “Yeah, why’s that?”
“Because you already look great.” Like the railroad spike in his jeans hadn’t given away his opinion. “But walking is good for your cardiovascular health, not to mention lowering stress levels.” God, he sounded like a pinhead.
“Good point. I propose we test the theory after we eat. Up for a hike later?” She took another bite.
“You bet.”
They ate in companionable silence for a few minutes, soaking in the gorgeous afternoon. The lazy Cumberland was smooth as glass, not a barge in sight, though one could appear around the bend at any moment. A water bird piped along the bank, spindly legs dancing, long beak flashing in and out of the mud. Howard thought he’d never seen a day so fine, enjoyed a meal so tasty.
And he knew the woman at his side was the reason.
She gestured to his left cheekbone. “How’d you get the scar?”
“A ninety-three-year-old lady with a golf club didn’t take too kindly to being made to leave her burning apartment with her kitty still inside.” He gave her a
“Ha! A grown man who still eats Pez candy can’t tease me for using kid words like ‘dork,’ ” she informed him smugly, peeling two off the roll he offered.
His lips twitched. “My other vice. I’m an addict; carry them everywhere I go.” Tucking the candy back in his pocket, Howard grabbed the sack and dug inside, fishing out four six-inch subs, four small packages of potato chips, and two bottled waters. “Ham or turkey? I got two of each.”
“Turkey’s fine—good Lord! Who’s going to eat all that food?”
He grinned at her. “Hey, I’m a growing boy. Gotta have fuel to deal with whatever life throws at me.”
“And you work out a lot.” Her eyes raked his body with appreciation. “How often?”
“Pretty much every night,” he said, handing her a turkey sub. Then realized he’d blundered.
“At night?” Kat glanced at him, curious, as she peeled the plastic wrap from her sandwich. “Don’t most people go to the gym in the morning or during the day?”
Setting Kat’s chips and water bottle on the jacket next to her, he scrambled to come up with a plausible reason for his odd schedule . . . other than the whole whacked-out truth. “I work twenty-four hours on shift, forty-eight off. During the days I’m on, we’re pretty busy, so it’s easier to work out in the evenings when things are slower. At home, I have equipment in one of the spare bedrooms, so I can hit the mats whenever I want. Or I can go to my health club for a change of scenery. Easier just to stick with my routine, though.”
Not exactly a lie. Still, it made him sound like sort of a fitness fanatic, one of those pretty boys who spent hours obsessing about staying buff, when nothing could be farther from the truth.
Problem was, the truth led right back down the dark and dangerous tunnel he’d been running from his entire life. And getting close to any one person meant sharing a nightmare not even he could fully understand—assuming he wanted to understand, which he didn’t.
“Good for you. I tried an exercise plan, three days a week for about six months. Weights, jogging, the whole deal. Finally gave up the ghost.” She opened her chips and took a bite of her sandwich.
“Yeah? How come?” Ravenous, he followed suit, glad to have dodged a bullet.
“Didn’t make a difference,” she said, chewing thoughtfully. “I can drop pounds, but I can’t change my body shape. I can be dry and round or sweaty and round. I don’t like to sweat, end of story.”
Uh-oh. Discussing a woman’s weight wasn’t a bullet. More like a rocket launcher.
Aimed at a man’s balls.
Shrugging, he said, “You don’t have to sweat to stay in shape. Something simple as a daily walk will do, especially for you.”
Arching a tawny brow, she eyed him in suspicion. “Yeah, why’s that?”
“Because you already look great.” Like the railroad spike in his jeans hadn’t given away his opinion. “But walking is good for your cardiovascular health, not to mention lowering stress levels.” God, he sounded like a pinhead.
“Good point. I propose we test the theory after we eat. Up for a hike later?” She took another bite.
“You bet.”
They ate in companionable silence for a few minutes, soaking in the gorgeous afternoon. The lazy Cumberland was smooth as glass, not a barge in sight, though one could appear around the bend at any moment. A water bird piped along the bank, spindly legs dancing, long beak flashing in and out of the mud. Howard thought he’d never seen a day so fine, enjoyed a meal so tasty.
And he knew the woman at his side was the reason.
She gestured to his left cheekbone. “How’d you get the scar?”
“A ninety-three-year-old lady with a golf club didn’t take too kindly to being made to leave her burning apartment with her kitty still inside.” He gave her a
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