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speech! You knew what you were getting into when I offered to drive you home! You wanted it as badly as I did!”
    Was that true? Had he wanted it as badly as she did? He couldn’t remember. Post-reunion, the night was one big, sensual blur.
    â€œFine, you’re right,” he admitted to placate her. “But it was just sex. Nothing else.”
    â€œAre you sure? Maybe it was the beginning of something,” she ventured, the hopefulness in her voice making him feel like a total creep.
    â€œLiz.” Paul cradled his head in his hands. She wasn’t going to let this go.
    â€œI have an idea.” She reached out, caressing his bare back with her big toe. “Why don’t we have dinner tonight?”
    â€œI can’t.” Paul stood up abruptly. “I’m at the bar tonight.”
    â€œTomorrow night, then.”
    â€œ Liz , I don’t want to have dinner with you, okay?”
    Anger flashed in her flinty green eyes. “Oh, I get it. I’m good enough to screw, but not good enough to share a meal with.”
    â€œThat’s bull and you know it.”
    â€œThen prove it. Have dinner with me.”
    â€œSometime,” he mumbled, hurriedly reaching for his shirt and buttoning it up. Anything to get her off his ass and get the hell out of here. “But not tonight. And not tomorrow night.”
    â€œThen when?”
    â€œI don’t know when!” He scooped his jacket up off the floor. “Look, I gotta go.”
    â€œFuck and run!” Liz snapped. “Some things never change!”
    â€œYou got that right,” Paul muttered under his breath. He flung open the bedroom door, hurrying down the immense, winding staircase. Twice his feet nearly went out from under him on the polished marble floor of the foyer. He’d forgotten his socks, but he didn’t care. All he wanted was to get out of there in one piece without cracking his skull or running into little Gary with the accusatory eyes. He felt sorry for the kid, having Liz as his mother. But right now, only one thing mattered. Flinging open the front door, he was free.
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    â€œPee—yew! You stink!”
    To drive the point home, Tuck held his nose right there at the breakfast table, until Katie’s mother leveled him with one of her disapproving stares and he slunk down in his seat, poking listlessly at his pancakes. Katie, dripping with sweat after her five-mile run, knew Tuck had only been telling the truth. She was beyond pungent; she was downright ripe.
    â€œSorry,” she apologized, still breathing heavily.
    â€œI don’t know why you have to do that,” her mother said, biting into a piece of toast. “Taxing your body that way. Couldn’t you just take a nice, brisk walk?”
    Katie smiled indulgently. “I could. But running helps clear my head. And it keeps the weight off.”
    Each time she ran, she thought back to when she first resolved to lose the weight. It was in college, right after she left Didsbury for good. She started a fitness program in tandem with joining Fat Fighters, of which she was now a lifetime member. Back then, she could barely stroll around the block without getting winded, never mind running. But gradually, she was able to do more and more. Now, she ran a minimum of five miles a day, five times a week. Running was her relaxation, the rhythmic pounding of her feet against the pavement hypnotic as any mantra. It was her time to think, daydream, muse. This morning’s run had been no exception.
    Flying down the silent, dilapidated streets of her childhood, she went over last night’s reunion. Her mind kept circling back to Paul van Dorn, sifting through their words for nuance and inflection. Had he been flirting with her when he said he wasn’t confused about his masculinity? She wasn’t sure. Anyway, why should she care?
    â€œKatie, sit down and have some breakfast with us.”
    â€œIn a minute,