Read A Kiss and a Cuddle for Free Online Page B

healthy food.  Not that I
could complain much compared to the southern cooking I was used to.  Denver, I
was told, was the healthiest city in the country.  I definitely got that vibe
from walking around the city and seeing the fit men and women walking around. 
Even the fashion here was different; it was very athletic-inspired, with hiking
boots and wind-breakers around every corner.  Even for the businessmen and
women downtown.  It was as though they could run into the wilderness, paddle
across a river, and climb a mountain at a moment’s notice.
    I
never really adopted the athletic-chic style, and anyone could tell that I
wasn’t a home-grown Denverite when I walked around town.  More than a handful
of people noticed this and made comments about me being a girly girl and mocked
how I don’t know how to ski or snowboard.  I would much prefer to wear dresses or
a chunky sweater with jeans and boots.  I didn’t spend a lot of money on buying
designer clothing, but I would buy timeless, classy pieces like a pearl
necklace, a classic trench coat, or a silver watch.  I also liked to mix and
match styles and blur the line of formal and informal wear; I would wear pearls
with my jeans and t-shirts or wear sturdy cowgirl boots with the most feminine
lacy dress.  I liked to bend the fashion rules.  
    I
gazed over at my boot collection near my door adoringly, as I started in on my
green muffins.  The muffins had an interesting texture.   Nina jumped up
on the table, took one sniff of the green dough on my plate, and turned her
nose up in disgust.
    “Well,
this isn’t food for a kitty, little Nina,” I said in my high-pitched kitten
voice.  “This is going to make your mama strong and healthy.  Even if it does
taste like unidentifiable goo.”
    As
I sat there nibbling away at my dinner, I thought back to my conversation with Rex
earlier that afternoon.  I thought about how everybody has a past that makes
them act the way they do now.  It seemed like he used a false bravado to disguise
the hurt from his past.  I didn’t blame him.  I thought the world had misunderstood
him.  Not that I even knew that much about him.  I paused on that thought.  I,
then, like any other modern girl would, promptly retrieved my laptop, opened up
Google in my internet browser, and typed in “Rex Byron”.
    I
saw a montage of Rex pictures – from when he was just a little boy with
coveralls and rosy cheeks to the man he was today, with designer suits and rosy
cheeks.  There were some images from his visits to Africa.  There were some
images of young Rex and his mom, Lady Byron. 
    I
tried to remember where I was when I heard the news of Lady Byron’s death.  I
would have been nine or ten years old, and we were driving in my mom’s old
Toyota car near the end of summer.  The song on the radio changed to a man with
a deep, saddened voice.  I do not recall the exact words, but I do remember my
mom gasping and moving her hand to cover her mouth. 
    “What
happened, Mom?” I asked from the passenger seat. 
    “Lady
Byron… is gone.  She was so young…” she trailed off, still in shock.  She was
still driving, but I could tell her mind was in another place.
    I
did not know who Lady Byron was, but it did make me sad.  Sad because a woman
was gone forever, and sad because it made my mom and the radio announcer sad. 
I could tell that she was someone special.  I knew that the world loved her.
    I
clicked on the Google image of young Rex and his mom.  It took me to an article
that discussed his recent visit to Argentina in his late twenties where he met
two young girls who lost their mother.  It said that Rex was so overwhelmed
that he started to cry, as he remembered his own mother’s death.  Lady Byron
had been attending a charity event in Rio de Janeiro, and there were swarms of
paparazzi surrounding her.  During all of the commotion, she walked out on to
the street and was struck by a car.  I read that Rex was