“Not today, Mara. Spring has sprung and I’ve sworn off blueberry pancakes. Bikini season’s just around the corner.” “You wear a bikini?” Mara asked over her shoulder as she drew coffee from a stainless-steel urn behind the counter. “No. My girlish figure has never been girlish enough to run the risk. But I would like to be able to fit this summer into what bathing suits I do own.” “Aw, come on, honey,” said Mara in her usual upbeat voice. “You’ve got nothing to worry about. You look fabulous. Me? I’m another story. I only eat broken cookies because the broken ones don’t have calories. Doesn’t work. The hips keep getting bigger, the shoulders smaller. Sure about the pancakes?” “Yes, I’m sure. But thanks for the compliment. One egg. Over easy. English muffin, dry. Coffee. Skim milk. Sweet’n Low.” “Gorry, Jess,” said Seth Hazlitt, Cabot Cove’s senior and most popular physician, and my dear friend. “You sound like the girl in that movie—what was it?—When Henry Met Sweetie?”
