Her breathing was
heavy but controlled, just as he had taught her.
She heard the shower stop and checked the cycle's timer. Another
quarter mile before she was through. That would work out almost
perfectly, giving her a few minutes to cool down before he was
all finished in the bathroom.
The cool winter air whispered across her face, and with each
misty exhale puffing from her nostrils she imagined the sensual
air of France, of Europe, so much there for them to see and do
together, an afternoon ride in dewy green hills, pedaling along
right behind him with his strong back in view, the bobbing of the
red and white checkered tablecloth peeking out from the picnic
basket strapped to his bicycle...
"Darling, are you going to pedal all the way to Alaska?"
Jean-Pierre said, glancing at the accumulated mileage on the
cycle's odometer.
Greta laughed heartily. "I stopped looking and...I guess...I
just...kept...going."
"To the hospital is where I'll be going," Jean-Pierre said.
Hitching his towel around his waist, he went to the balcony doors
and closed them. "With pneumonia!"
"Oh, darling, I'm sorry," she said, lifting her feet from the
pedals. She dropped her head into her crossed arms over the
handlebars and regulated her breathing as she cooled down. The
machine's flywheel slowed to a stop and she shook herself
briskly.
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