Brett came to a halt, trying to
figure out what was going on
Renita wasnât the type to flirt or flaunt her body, yet thatâs exactly what she was doing.
Thanks to his ex-wife, he was all too familiar with the body language of a woman on the prowl. Renita was preening, touching her hair, pushing her arms together and leaning on the table to emphasize her cleavage.
She was also drunk. When she raised her glass she nearly missed her mouth then giggled when a few drops of sparkling wine fizzed down her chin. No wonder she was acting this way. She didnât know what she was doing.
Her admirer immediately topped up her glass from a bottle on the table. Clearly he expected the evening to end with Renita in his bed.
Brett carefully set his beer on a nearby table.
Not bloody likely, mate.
Dear Reader,
Are you a couch potato or a fitness freak? Or are you somewhere in between? I fall into the âin betweenâ category. I go to the gym regularly and walk almost every day. Even so, I struggle to keep my weight under control. Part of the reason is that I love to cook and, naturally, to eat. I enjoy little indulgences like a piece of chocolate or a glass of wine.
To me, achieving a healthy, happy lifestyle comes down to finding a balance, where feeling fit gives as much pleasure as having a nice meal. Health versus appearance; appearance versus personality; these are some of the other issues Iâve explored in the second book of the Summerside Stories trilogy, In His Good Hands.
Renita Thatcher is a couch potato trying to change her ways with the help of gym owner Brett OâConnor, who also happens to be her unrequited high school crush.
I hope you enjoy reading Renitaâs story and can identify with her journey from the couch to the gym.
I love to hear from readers. You can find me at www.joankilby.com or write to me c/o Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, ON, Canada M3B 3K9.
Joan Kilby
Joan Kilby goes to her local gym several times a week for Body Balanceâa combination of Tai Chi, pilates and yoga. And yes, there is a cappuccino machine where she and her friends hang out after class. Melbournians love their coffee! Like the hero in this book, Joan is mathematically challenged. Unlike the hero, she knows better than to mess around with large sums of money. Joanâs husband and three children help keep her sane while sheâs writing. And her dog, Toby, takes her for a walk every day.
RENITA THATCHER TUGGED AT the jacket of her blue silk-blend suit, struggling to fasten it across her stomach. Cripes, if she got any bigger sheâd have to wear a tent to work. Usually she left the jacket open, but a button had popped off her blouse.
Of all daysâ
Her office door burst open. Poppy, her young assistant, announced breathlessly, âBrett OâConnorâs here.â
âAlready?â Renita sucked in her gut, tightened what stomach muscles she possessed, and squeezed the button through the hole. âGive me two minutes, then show him in.â
Poppy left, closing the door behind her. Renita whipped a compact out of her top drawer and checked her hair, tucking a wavy dark strand behind her ear. She tried taking her glasses off. Nope, she was blind without them. Baring her teeth in the tiny mirror, she made sure there were no lipstick smears or sesame seeds from her breakfast bagel.
She put away her compact and took several deep breaths to slow her tripping heart, coaching herself not to get anxious over this meeting. Her high school crush on Brett OâConnor was ancient history. Anyway, heâd never been interested in her that way, so his visit was nothing to get excited about.
Sure, she was curious about why heâd returned to Summerside, but her biggest concern right now was that a) her jacket button didnât pop and b) she didnât reveal by a single word, gesture or look that sheâd ever had the slightest hint of romantic feelings toward him.
Professionalism, that was the key. She was no longer a nerdy, chubby fifteen-year-old infatuated with the school jock whoâd broken her heart. She was a businesswoman and the loans manager at Community Bank, just doing her job.
Poppy knocked. Renitaâs mouth felt as dry as the paper she was clutching in her damp palms as a prop. Poppy opened the door, ushering in Brett OâConnor, who was gorgeous as ever in a casual suit jacket over an open-necked shirt and designer jeans. He carried a manila envelope.
At the last second Renita remembered the jar of jelly beans and whisked it off her desk and into a drawer.
âHello, Brett.â She rose, grateful that her voice, at least, was cool and calm. The sight of his thick, sun-streaked hair and slightly crooked nose transported her straight back to grade eleven, when a passing glance from him in the school corridor had been enough to send her into dreamy reveries.