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I nodded slowly, absorbing her words while at the same time trying to be friendly. “Of course not.”
“You’re very pretty.”
Her compliment threw me off guard. It was so random, I instantly felt sheepish. “Thank you.”
“Your hair is so long and thick. Do you add anything to it?”
“Just condition it.”
“It’s lovely—very lovely.”
“Thank you,” I said again.
“You’re welcome.” She had a smile in her voice as she asked, “Do you live at home with your mother?”
“I do.”
“Is the father in the picture?”
I nodded slowly. “Yeah.”
“Wow.” She seemed utterly surprised by that.
I didn’t want to tell her Kurt was my stepdad, because as far as I was concerned, he was always like a real dad to me. Blood never came in the way of that—he proved it time and time again with his love for me.
Her surprise also ate away at me. To presume I didn’t have a dad for what reason? I didn’t want to be annoyed by it, but I was, and I had to mute that inner voice. She must not have meant to sound like that, I reasoned. I was taking it too personally.
Here was a woman all the other women wanted to be.
She was radiant, flawless, a complete star in a tiny town.
And I was being silly to get upset at all.
“Have you eaten?” she asked, and before I could answer, she continued. “I picked up this delicious iced tea next to the yoga studio I go to five times a week, one hour a day. I worked my inner thigh muscles this afternoon, but I had a nasty heartburn since this morning. I haven’t touched it.” She twisted back around to hand me the drink. “I don’t want to waste it.”
I took it and placed it in my lap, not feeling thirsty. Then she handed me a tiny bag. “Lemon cookies,” she said. “To go with it.” She groaned. “These are my kryptonite.”
She slipped her hand into the bag once she’d handed it to me and removed a cookie for herself. She took a bite out of it and fell back into her seat, groaning again. “Worth every calorie if you ask me. I’ll push myself harder tomorrow with Kenny, have a core workout, one hour and thirty-five minutes should do it.”
The cookies smelled to die for. I took a bite, agreeing, “It’s amazing.”
“Isn’t it?”
I was so nervous being around her, I wound up demolishing two in under a minute.
“Did you know I used to go to culinary school?” she then exclaimed with a laugh.
“No, I didn’t—”
“I was in my twenties.”
“Was this before Leo?”
“Oh, yes,” she said with a nod of her perfect head. “Way before Leo, but only months before I met George. I was a hard worker. I could have been a chef—probably the best chef around. AMasterChef, like that show or whatever. I would have made a fortune opening up a restaurant. I wassucha hard worker. Really creative, imaginative. My teacher—who was very reputable himself—saidIwas blessed, and I’m not trying to be boastful, but that’s just what he said. Yes, yes, it would have been a very influential restaurant.”
“What sort of food would you have cooked?”
Maybe she didn’t hear me because she continued with, “The hours were long, you know. I was very isolated, very outcast. I never fit in with my peers, and that’s okay, sweetheart. It’s okay to stand out, so long as you’re not taking shortcuts.”
