“Or one mile,” he muttered, angling his hips just enough so that he was facing me and the water at the same time, the side of his foot moving just enough so that it brushedmyown.
“Ha,ha.”
He grinned. “I thought it’s good for people with heart problems to docardio?”
“I don’t have a heart problem anymore,” I reminded him. “And I like to go forwalks—”
Hecoughed.
“—long walks, thank youverymuch.”
“Long walks,” he repeated. “Andkickboxing.”
I nodded at him. “I took a Zumba class three times a week for threemonthsonce.”
He blinked. “What’sZumba?”
It was my turn to blink at him. “You dance toexercise.”
The way he stared at me blankly made mesnort.
“It was harder than you think,” I said, earning a smirk from that mouth that I purposely hadn’t thoughtabout.
“I’ll take your wordforit.”
I snickered, and before I knew what I was doing, I moved my foot to the side until it bumped with the side of his. “Are you still going to run now that you’re back?” Iasked.
He shrugged as his eyes swung toward the water. “Not as much. It relaxes me, but I don’tloveit.”
What he meant too was that he had better things to occupy his time with than running just to make the day go by faster. That was one of the things I tried not to worry about with our friendship once his life got back to normal. About how he’d forget about me. Make less time to sit on his computer and chat… and then, eventually, he’d be gone, living his life. And if I was lucky, he might think of me once a month or once every other month and shoot me an e-mail. As timewenton—
I was being a selfish jerk, wasn’t I? Worrying about things I couldn’t control? Expecting everyone to be like everyone else that had used me for something and then forgotten Iexisted?
“I like going for bike rides more,” he admitted, breaking my thoughts when he nudged my toes with his sand-coveredones.
That had me perking up. “Mountainbiking?”
“Yeah.” He smiled. “Youmountainbike?”
I shook my head. “No, but it’s always sounded like fun. There aren’t any mountains or hills in Houston. There are two trails that I know of, but they’re usually packed with people because there’s nowhere else for them to go. I’d be too scared to startthere.”
“There are lots of trails in Kentucky,” he told me, giving me a little smile that sent my heart doing pit-pats it had no businessdoing.
“What kind of bike doyouhave?”
“AYeti.”
“Never heard of it. I still have my Huffy from when I wasakid.”
I could tell by the creases at the corners of his eyes that Aaron was biting back a smile. “I bet you’d still fit on your kid-sizedHuffy.”
That got me side-eyeing him. “I know a lot of people shorter than me,thankyou.”
“Oh yeah?” He raised an eyebrow like he didn’t believe me, which chances were, hedidn’t.
I noddedsarcastically. “Yeah.”
“Where do you know them from?” he asked, those eyebrows still up. “From theShire?”
