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He cracked a dazzling grin, his teeth flashing white against the shadow of stubble surrounding his mouth. “I’m a personal trainer. My name’s Kieran O’Brien, owner of Bodies By O’Brien, which is a health club, not a strip club. Or a pizza joint.”
None of this made any sense to Erica. Not the circumstance or her slightly warm reaction to his smile. She had the strongest urge to step onto the porch, strip off his jacket and see if his physique lived up to her expectations. Instead, she tugged her oversize sweatshirt down to conceal her obvious physical flaws. “First of all, my birthday is a couple of weeks away.” Her thirty-first birthday, which she’d just as soon forget. “Secondly, I don’t want a personal trainer.”
He shifted his weight slightly, showing the first signs of discomfort. “Not according to the party who hired me. In fact, she said you’ve mentioned you’d like to have a trainer. That’s why she’s giving my services to you as a birthday gift.”
Erica should’ve known she would rue the day she’d admitted that to Bette, the self-appointed salon matriarch. “I truly appreciate the gesture, but honestly, I’m a massage therapist at a busy day spa and I work crazy hours. I don’t have a lot of extra time on my hands.”
“You don’t have any breaks?” he asked, his voice laced with suspicion.
“I usually don’t get home until after 6:00 p.m., and I work Saturdays. The rest of the time I spend with my daughter.”
He scrubbed a palm over his chin. “What time do you go into the spa in the morning?”
She could predict where he might be trying to lead her, and that was a road she didn’t care to take. “I arrive around 9:00 a.m., but I don’t do mornings well, Mr. O’Brien.”
“It’s Kieran, and a good workout gets the adrenaline going to carry you through the rest of the day.”
“That’s why they invented coffee.”
“I never touch the stuff. I prefer a natural endorphin high.”
She preferred a double espresso mocha cappuccino with whipped cream. But she did remember those endorphin days fondly, during a long-ago time when she’d been an avid gymnast. Back when she hadn’t been toting thirty extra pounds and the weight of serious responsibilities on her shoulders. “Again, I’m not a morning person.”
Kieran inclined his head slightly and leveled his gaze on her. “If you try it, you might like it. But if mornings won’t work, we could come up with another plan that suits your schedule. No sweat.”
And if she agreed, Erica assumed sweating would be a major part of the deal. She was already beginning to perspire despite the forty-degree November weather, and he hadn’t even put her through a workout—at least not beyond the dubious one playing out in her imagination. “As tempting as that sounds, I’m afraid I’ll have to decline. But I’ll be sure to let Bette know that I appreciate the thought.”
Now he looked confused. “Sorry, but I don’t know anyone named Bette.”
This was getting stranger by the minute. “Then who sent you?”
“You’re here, Mr. O’Brien!” came from behind Erica right before Stormy unlatched the screen and rushed onto the porch. Suddenly, it was very clear how this man ended up on her doorstep, although the details were still sketchy.
“I take it you two know each other,” Erica said, after her daughter finished giving Kieran O’Brien a voracious hug.
Stormy grinned, looking altogether pleased with her little surprise. “Happy birthday, Mom!”
She had no clue how Stormy could have possibly hired this man. Personal trainers were costly, and her daughter simply didn’t have any real monetary resources. “It’s not my birthday yet, and would you care to explain how you managed this, young lady?”
“Lisa’s mom told me about Mr. O’Brien today when she took us to the gym. That’s when I hired him.” She glanced up at Kieran with pure adoration. “Isn’t that right?”
He patted her cheek. “That’s right.”
Erica was surprised that Candice Conrad, who’d barely given her the time of day aside from arranging playdates for their daughters, had some role in this plan. Or Candy, as her friends called her. Ironic, considering the woman had probably never eaten an ounce of chocolate in her entire life. Or if she had, she’d managed to surgically remove the effects. But that wasn’t exactly fair. After all, Candy dropped Stormy off at the spa almost every afternoon after school. For that reason, Erica should be a bit more benevolent. Then again, Candy had obviously taken it upon herself to impose her own fitness standards on poor, overweight Erica.
Regardless, Erica still had questions to ask Kieran O’Brien…alone.
After opening the door, Erica pointed inside. “You need to finish your homework before the pizza arrives, sweetie.”
Stormy scowled. “But, Mom—”
“No arguments, Stormy. I need to talk to Mr. O’Brien for a few minutes.”
“To set up the training sessions,” Stormy said with certainty.
To tell him thanks, but no thanks, something Erica chose not to mention at the moment. “We’ll see. In the meantime, your homework is waiting.”
Stormy walked back into the house in a huff and as soon as Erica was assured her daughter wasn’t within earshot, she turned back to Kieran. “I happen to know Stormy doesn’t have enough money to pay for your services.”
“Actually, she gave me all her allowance.”
A meager allowance her child must have been saving for quite some time. “What was that? Fifty dollars?”
He fished in his pocket and pulled out a few bills. “Eighty, to be exact.”
She rolled her eyes. “I suspect you make that much in half an hour.”
“Normally, but I’m willing to give her a cut rate. In fact, you can have this back now.” He opened her hand and laid the bills in her palm, then folded her fingers around them before releasing his grasp on her wrist. “In case she needs something special. Just don’t let her know I returned it.”
His simple touch threw Erica for a loop, almost enough to prevent her from speaking. “Why would you even consider doing this for free?”
“Because she seems like a good kid and this means a lot to her. You might want to think about that before you turn down the offer.”
He definitely had a point, although Erica wasn’t inclined to accept charity in any form. Yet she saw no harm in at least carefully considering the gesture before she told her daughter how much she appreciated her concern, but why she couldn’t commit to a fitness program right now. “Do you have a number I can call if I decide I want to do this?”
After he pulled a card from his jeans’ pocket, he gave her a long once-over that made her want to unbind her waist-length hair from the back of her neck, but that would only conceal her upper torso. “Give me a pen and I’ll write down my cell number,” he said. “It’s easier to reach me that way.”
She had no pockets in her tattered sweats, which meant she could leave him standing on the porch while she searched for a pen, or be courteous and invite him inside. Oh, what the heck. She’d write down the number and send him on his way.
Erica flattened herself against the door and waved him forward. “Come in while I find something to write with. The den’s to your right.”
Despite a solid effort to keep her eyes centered on his back, her gaze took a downward trek as she followed him through the small foyer. As predicted, his butt