Page 4 of Someone Like You

Mrs Daniels greeted him from her window; he waved back, pretending not to know she’d be watching him until he was out of sight. She was a beautiful, lonely woman who evidently needed more attention than her husband could give her and she had never tried to hide her liking for Ian since the day they’d moved into the building. Ian, on his own part, had always been polite to her, especially because any electric appliance the nice lady owned had a suspicious penchant for breaking in mysterious circumstances, which meant Ian was summoned to check her TV more often thanhe got to watch his own. He knew she did it just to stare at his arse as he knelt on the ground to work. He didn’t care. It was honestly earned money. He’d never given any signs of being interested in the woman, nor had she ever tried to make a move on him. His conscience was clear.

It was less than two miles to Kelvingrove. Normally he’d have avoided the park as it tended to be crowded on warm days like today, but he trusted that the rain had kept most people indoors and out of his way. Like most things in life, running wasn’t half as enjoyable without some peace and quiet.

He took the long way to get some more miles into his route, his clothes damp by the time he reached the park, minuscule droplets dotting the strands of hair that had escaped the ponytail under his hood. It felt so good he could’ve easily kept going for hours, just him and the rain and the twittering birds.

His father Thomas accused him of being a sociopath, which was unfair, because Ianhadfriends and even saw them often enough, as long as there was a football game that lured them all into the same pub. Maybe calling themfriendswas an exaggeration. Drinking buddies might be a better definition. But still. Ian wasn’t a sociopath. Just a lone wolf at heart who preferred keeping to himself whenever possible.

When he turned the corner and spotted the old fountain, he checked his watch: eight miles done, two left. If he hurried, he could treat himself to one of Sandra’s coffees and maybe a croissant before the morning rush. Spurred by the prospect, he sped up, closing his eyes for a moment to enjoy the rain on his face and the anticipation of the best coffee in town gracing his taste buds.

The elation didn’t last long. Halfway around the fountain something bumped into him and forced him to halt abruptly. Or rather…someone. There was a guy whimpering on the ground, his face scrunched in pain. Ian’s eyes flitted to the edge of the fountain to make sure it was well out of the fall’s trajectory, then back at the sorry fellow, who was struggling to sit up.

“Here.” Ian grabbed his elbow and put him on his feet. The guy wasn’t big, but hopefully sturdier than he looked. “Are you alright?”

The guy massaged his back with yet another whimper. “Been better. Not every day you run into a human brick wall.” A surly glare shot up at Ian. “Thank fuck.”

American. Of course. A respectable Glaswegian would throw fists first and whine later.

“You sure nothing’s broken there?”

“Yeah, pretty sure.” The guy brushed his damp hair out of his face, still glaring at Ian. “Didn’t see you coming.”

“Aye, no harm done.” said Ian. He was pretty sure the stranger expected an apology, which he wasn’t going to issue, since they were both accountable for the accident. “You don’t see many senior citizens running around here,” he added, just to tease, but the guy missed his humorous intent.

“I’m forty-five, jackass!”

Ian couldn’t help a chuckle. “Nice to meet you, Forty-Five. I’m Ian.”

“For fuck’s sake…”

The guy’s voice sounded much younger than he looked. Even younger than Ian himself, but it couldn’t be. It wasn’t the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes or the grey streaks in his unkempt beard that made him lookold. It was something in his eyes, a pale green-brown that must look quite striking in the sunlight. The look they bore, though… It was dull and melancholic, almost desperate, but in a quiet, bashful way that suggested how hard the man was trying not tolookit.

Ian lost his voice for a moment. He had never seen eyes like those — soempty. A pang of guilt made him backtrack on his attitude after the first couple of false starts.

“Let’s start over, shall we? Ian Galloway.” He stretched out a hand. The man glanced down at it as though he was considering spitting into it, which would have earned him Ian’s absolute respect, but eventually, in an admirable display of self-control, he grudgingly shook it. His grip was surprisingly strong.

“Phil Hanson.”

Ian caught the same tightness he sensed in Phil’s throat reflected into his expression. That tormented look only enhanced the scruffy attractiveness of his features — features whose attractiveness would’ve been perfectly ordinary and uninteresting if his nose hadn’t been visibly crooked to one side.

“Handsome indeed.”

A red tinge crept into Phil’s neck and up to his ears. “Hanson.”

Ian’s eyes widened innocently. “Oh.”

His smartwatch bleeped, reminding him he’d failed to complete his route on time, meaning he technically hadn’t earned his post-run treat, but to hell with that. He wasn’t going to skip his favourite moment of the week just because an American idiot had disrupted his schedule. Besides, he was kind of intrigued by this guy.

“That should’ve been my finish time,” he announced, tapping the alarm off. He arched an eyebrow at Phil. “You owe me.”

“Excuse me?”

“For running into me.”

Phil scowled. “Youran intome! Youoweme!”

Ian snickered to himself. Too easy.

“Alright, big man,” he said complacently. “What about a coffee?”

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