Take a Chance on Me (2 page)

In my opinion, though, they were loud, overly demonstrative, constantly emotive, and up to their eyebrows in syrupy products. The whole lot of them were like a bunch of kindly crack dealers, and they were headquartered just down the street from the gym. There should’ve been a city ordinance against something so counterproductive.

I’d made it my mission to avoid sugars and sweeteners, period, but there was no way I’d ever try most of The Gala’s savory items either. (Okay,
maybe
their small Greek salad, if forced.) Whenever I looked in their food display case, the words “High Fat!” and “High Cholesterol!” all but flashed at me in neon.

“Enjoy,” I said to Gillian, waving at her as I walked out of Harbor Fitness and into the April afternoon.

Once I’d stolen a lungful or two of fresh air, I reread the yellow slip of paper.

Tell Chance to give me a call. Pronto. ~Donna

What would the drama be this time?

I pulled out my cell phone and punched in Donna’s number. Might as well find out, although I couldn’t help wishing—like the gift basket—that I could just wrap her up, stick some ribbon on her, and hand her over to someone else who’d appreciate her more than I did.

~Nia~

“Ow, my back,” I moaned. I massaged my lower spine and the all the muscles around it, but I just knew I was going to need more professional help.

“The problem is two-fold, Nia,” my doctor had told me that morning. “You need to stop doing whatever it is that caused your lower back strain, and you need to strengthen your core muscles to help prevent any further injury.”

So, okay, I had a terribly bad habit of hunching over while helping to make the various pastries at my family’s restaurant. There was so much detail work involved that I always had to lean close to the tray, use precise hand movements, and concentrate on the fine-motor tasks. Of course I should have remembered to adjust my posture and take hourly breaks, but I never seemed to think of it until my back started to ache.

Now I’d gone and strained it, and I’d have to figure out a way to fix myself up as soon as possible. It couldn’t happen again. Demand at The Gala was high, and my parents needed my help too much for me to quit.

I curled into a comfy position on the sofa (or as close to comfy as I could get under the circumstances) and speed-dialed one of my old high-school pals. The one who seemed to know just about everybody in town.

“Donna?”

“Long time, no chat! What’s up, Nia?”

So I told her about my back injury and what my doctor had suggested. “I was hoping you might know someone who’d be good at personal training. I need just a few sessions to get my ‘core’ muscles on track. Someone who really knows what they’re doing so I don’t make the strain worse.”

“The obvious choice is Harbor Fitness,” Donna said, slightly out of breath. It sounded like she was climbing up or around something. Or, maybe, at a spinning class? Then again, Donna was always on the move, like a coyote on the hunt. She was high energy. Even when we were teens she never could just hang out and chill.

“I thought of that,” I began, “but—”

“It’s close, it’s convenient, it has lots of personal trainers, and I know most of them.”

Despite the fact that Harbor Fitness was only a block away from The Gala, I’d never set foot in the place. It was filled with those annoying hard-body types. Guys who spent half of their free time working out and the other half admiring themselves in those massive wall mirrors.

I totally didn’t need that sort of vanity in my life.

Besides, I always felt
squishy
around men like that. Knew they had to be judging my appearance, calculating every percentage point of body fat, and comparing me to the gym bunnies who were their female equivalents on the treadmills and elliptical machines. The ladies who always seemed to wear an overabundance of skimpy Lycra in a variety of pastel shades. Donna was one such person. And though I liked her, she and I didn’t have all that much in common.

“I don’t think I can handle working out with anyone who’s leering at my chest or who’s constantly talking at me, like I’m a contestant on some ‘extreme’ weight-loss show,” I said.

The one other time I’d gone to a gym, it was during college. The trainers that were tramping through the place acted like zealous cheerleaders. They all said things like, “Keep on sweating!” and “You can do it. Just one more rep!” I’d hated every single second.

And, when I was trying to leave, one of the muscle men leaned over to his no-neck buddy and whispered about me. “Check out that one. She’s got a rack,” I heard him say. It was enough to make me fantasize about strangling him with one of those elastic exercise bands.

“Harbor Fitness has a couple of women personal trainers,” Donna suggested. “Terri is on maternity leave but another, Allison, works every morning. She probably has a few openings.”

“Mornings are a problem for me, unfortunately. That’s when we make most of the specialty items for the lunch and dinner crowd. And we work again in the evenings, doing the prep for the early morning customers, so all we need to do when we wake up is bake the pastries.” I smothered a sigh. “I need a trainer who’s available in the afternoon.”

“Well, unless you want to drive out of town, the only trainer I can think of that might fit your schedule is Chance Michaelsen,” Donna said, with a tone that made him sound like the ultimate last resort. “Didn’t I ever tell you about him?”

A vague memory of something negative floated through my brain. A series of rants by my friend about how the guy wasn’t very attentive to her and that he was too wrapped up in himself. From Donna’s description, he sounded like a real tool.

“A person could hardly get him to say anything,” Donna continued with disdain. “He was just in his own little world all the time. I’d tell him the most interesting gossip about stuff going on in town, and he’d just stare at me. Unblinkingly. Hardly even acknowledging what I was sharing.” She huffed. “So, I don’t think you’d have to worry about him talking too much. If you get the guy to string more than three sentences in a row together during your entire half-hour session, I’d be shocked.”

Hmm. Given my needs, that actually sounded sort of promising.

“But would you recommend him as a trainer? Is he good at what he does?”

“I should hope so,” Donna shot back. “Fitness is
all
he thinks about. He actually broke up with me after only three weeks because he said he was ‘too busy training for a triathlon’ to have time to devote to a girlfriend. Insane! So, you won’t have to worry about him hitting on you or leering at you.” She paused. “I’m not even sure he’s straight.”

I caught myself smiling, glad Donna couldn’t see me. How very like her to assume that any man who’d dare to break up with her must, therefore, be gay. But I didn’t care one whit if he was or if he wasn’t. As long as this Chance guy could help me strengthen my muscles and do it without spouting off lewd comments or making me feel like a troll at the gym, he’d be good enough.

Besides, I already had a boyfriend. Sort of. Even if I hadn’t, I sure wasn’t looking to hook up with anyone I’d meet at a
health club
anyway.

“Okay,” I said. “I should just call the gym to set something up, right? I don’t have to talk to him directly, do I?”

“No, just contact Harbor Fitness. The front desk has the scheduling book. I have to call them today about signups for a new Zumba class, so I’ll give Chance a heads up about you, too. Tell him he’d better be nice to you. Or else.”

“Oh, Donna, you don’t have to do that! I’ll just—”

“Hey, it’s no problem. I’m glad to help. And if that prick gives you a hard time, you just let me know.”

I winced. Already I was regretting this plan.

How long would it take before I could get my life back to normal and not have to do anything as ridiculous and unnatural as working out with some dopey personal trainer at a gym?

Chapter Two

~ Chance ~

It was just freakin’ ridiculous and unnatural. All of these citizens of Mirabelle Harbor abusing their bodies this way.

Okay, yes, it
was
Easter Sunday and all, but still. How many caramel-filled chocolate eggs did one person need to devour during an hour-long egg hunt?

My family had roped me into attending this particular community event. My sister Sharlene was a force to be reckoned with, and when she wanted a Michaelsen family gathering, the rest of us came scurrying.

My eldest brother Derek and his wife Olivia were part of the town council responsible for planning and overseeing Mirabelle Harbor’s Annual Easter Egg Hunt, so they were there, of course, as were their sons—James, Riley, and Peter. To the best of my knowledge, all three of my nephews had already eaten twice their body weight in candy that afternoon.

“Seriously, you’ve got to stop them,” I said to Derek, as we watched nine-year-old Riley shove a handful of speckled malt-ball eggs into his mouth. James, age eleven, was working his way through a rainbow of jelly beans. And little five-year-old Peter was ruthlessly devouring the head of a milk chocolate bunny. “They’re going to make themselves sick,” I warned.

Man, I was
worried
about those kids.

But my big brother just laughed. “Glad you care, Bro,” Derek said. “But you need to lighten up. This is a treat for them. Never fear. Most of the time, they eat their meat, fruit, and veggies.”

“Yeah, Chance. Lighten up,” my other big brother mocked. Blake, who was six years older than me but three years younger than Derek, knew better than to contradict any parental advice that our only currently married sibling might dish out. At thirty-seven, Derek was wiser than all of us and far more successful in the relationship department. And we all knew it, but I still thought this crazy sugar fest was a mistake.

Sharlene, four years older than me and having just turned thirty-two, was not about to take my side against Derek and Olivia either. Although she’d been married once (briefly), she and her ex didn’t have kids, and Shar was the most indulgent auntie imaginable. She just shot me an amused sideways glance and said, “Don’t you remember being a kid during major holidays?”

Problem was, I
did
remember. One Christmas, when I was about ten, I ate so many frosted sugar cookies that I spent most of Christmas Eve puking my guts out in the upstairs bathroom. Maybe some kids would just shrug that off. Would forget about it well before the next holiday gathering rolled around. But I wasn’t one of those kids.

“All I’m saying is that moderation isn’t a bad thing.” I looked expectantly at my siblings in attendance, but my two brothers, my sister, and my sister-in-law all just laughed at me.

If Chandler, my twin, older than me by only two minutes, were here, he’d be in their camp, too. That guy ate more junk food in a week than I’d eaten all year.

But, shit, I still missed him. Especially on days like today.

He was the only person in the world who didn’t make me feel as though I
had
to talk to be understood. He just
knew
.

“Anyone heard from Chandler lately?” I asked the clan.

Derek shook his head. Blake shrugged. But Shar said, “I sent him an email last week. He’s in Atlanta now.”

“Atlanta?” Olivia said. “When did he leave Sarasota?”

My sister winced. “It’s been months, actually. Ever since he broke up with Abby, he’s been working his way north. He was in northern Florida for a while and now Georgia. Maybe, eventually, I’ll finally convince him to come home again.”

My sister wanted all of us near home. Ever since our parents died—just a couple of years apart—she’d become extra protective of all of us. When Chandler and his longtime girlfriend, Abby Solinski, left Mirabelle Harbor a few years back, my sister was at least comforted by the fact that my twin had someone from home with him. But Chandler was restless and always on the move. The two of them had lived in something like five states before even reaching Florida. Guess Abby finally got sick of that. Much as I loved my brother, I could hardly blame her.

Olivia scrunched up her forehead with worry. “You know Marianna Gregory, right? Her daughter Kathryn went away to college this year—Michigan, I think? Well, Marianna just sold her house and is headed down to Sarasota for the summer. I should tell her to look up Abby while she’s there. Maybe find out what the deal is with Chandler.”

Shar was in instant agreement with this plan, as only meddling Michaelsen women could be. Always using their neighborly networking and social skills to “connect” people—whether or not they needed connecting.

Blake must’ve guessed what I was thinking because he smothered a smirk when he glanced at me. Derek just shot me a look that said, “Don’t get involved.”

Yeah. Like I had any intention of doing that.

Olivia said to my sister, “There’s Marianna now!” She motioned toward a cluster of women in the distance. “I’m going to go over and chat with her. Wanna come with me?”

“I’ll be right there,” Shar said. “I’m just going to grab a soda from The Gala’s booth, and maybe a piece of baklava. Want one?”

“Heck, yeah,” Olivia said, reaching for her purse.

“It’s on me,” Shar said with a grin. “I’ll get us a few things and meet you over there.”