Page 13 of In the Long Run
‘I signed you up for a marathon.At Brigitte’s Run.You know, the one in September?It’s for charity.Surprise!’
5
GEN
One of the perks of working for yourself is setting your own schedule.I turn towards Alizée’s Pâtisserie instead of going home after my morning run.Crisp, cool air stings my cheeks and I welcome it, unzipping my running jacket so the breeze can skate across my chest.It won’t stop me from looking like a human tomato, but hopefully I’ll be merely flushed by the time I step inside my favourite coffee shop.
Eugene, the owner and head pâtissier, would probably refuse me service if he heard me refer to Alizée’s as anything other than a little slice of France right here in Melbourne.The promise of something warm and delicious spurs me forward and I ignore the heaviness in my legs.This morning’s intervals will really make their presence known tomorrow when my muscle soreness properly sets in, and right now, a marathon feels like a ridiculous goal.Then I remember the pep talk Bernie pulled me aside to deliver before I left my party.My long runs have been hovering around sixteen to eighteen kilometres for over twelve months.And I’ve got three months to train.
My watch buzzes, distracting me from making a list of questions about the training plan Mere and Bernie have promised to put together for me.
Brand:Did you leave early for your run today?Stopped by your place but missed you.Sorry I didn’t come to your party.Didn’t know you were having one.I’m going to try to find you so we can have breakfast together.
I whip around, my jacket splaying even further open, but the icy concern clawing at my skin has nothing to do with today’s temperature.The park between the beach and Alizée’s is empty.Is Brand … is he watching me?There were a few cars parked along the Esplanade, but I wasn’t really paying attention.My fingers fumble at my jacket and it takes me two goes to get the zipper in place.I yank it all the way up to my chin, ignoring the sting of pain when it bites at the sensitive skin under my jaw.Another spin confirms the park’s deserted.
I head towards the glow spilling out of Alizée’s front windows cautiously.According to my heart rate monitor, I’m sprinting.Normally, I use the playground for stretches – it’s too early for the neighbourhood children, and everything’s still blanketed in last night’s dew anyway – but today I keep jogging, phone clutched in one hand, my gaze fixed on the pâtisserie’s pale blue front doors.
My watch buzzes again but I don’t look down.If Brand is watching, I want him to see me ignore him.
And I need a minute to calm down.
This has to stop.
But how?If I block Brand’s number, he’ll use a different phone to contact me.Surely, it’s better to know what he’s up to?I briefly consider changing my number, but that’s a concession I shouldn’t have to make.And it will negate all the flyers I’ve been dropping off at different businesses trying to find new clients.
It’s not until I’m within touching distance of the wisteria that grows all around Alizée’s that I slow to a walk.Gnarled branches twist around the guide wires that span the whole front of the cottage.In spring, the whole place transforms into a picturesque wonderland covered in big, hanging purple flowers.It’s magical.But right now, with Brand at the forefront of my mind, it’s easy to imagine something sinister.But I’m not going to.Brand isn’t going to ruin this for me too.
Once I’m inside, my first breath is like breaking above the water while swimming.I drag the air all the way down to my stomach.My next inhale – the air laced with coffee and sugar – is an immediate balm to my frayed nerves.
Really, Brand’s done me a favour.Reminded me that I shouldn’t run the same paths and be so predictable.There’s having a routine and enjoying using apps like Strava to track my run stats, and then there’s being unintentionally reckless.At least that’s what it’s called when female runners do this.For male runners, not so much.Tomorrow morning I’ll go to Get Fit, Get Strom and do one of their strength classes and run in the afternoon.
I’m so lost in my thoughts that I don’t notice the man at the front of the short queue until he speaks.
‘Can I please have a long black and a cappuccino, and then an almond croissant, four normal ones and a couple of the pistachio macarons?Do you know if they’re still Eugene’s favourites?’Knox asks the older woman behind the counter.
There’s a loud squeal from the small office that sits to the side of the main counter.Celeste, my favourite server, appears and says, ‘Oh my God, finally!You’re here!’
Her short, pink hair is pulled away from her face by an Alice band covered in little strawberry tarts.She always looks so cute and quirky.Her face is bright, her expression light and mischievous as she scurries around the counter and yanks Knox into her arms.He sighs loudly but returns her hug, his lips curling into a small, content smile.
He certainly didn’t look at me likethat.
‘Why is this the first I’m seeing of you?’she says, pressing her face into his black hoodie.
When she looks up at him, Knox hugs her tighter, giving her a little shake.
Celeste gestures to the other worker to serve the next person in line before returning her attention to Knox.‘And you’re so bad at replying to texts.You know you’re not paying by the character anymore, right?You can write more thanOKorACK.Please keep any and all Army lingo and acronyms far away from me.’
‘I’ve been busy,’ Knox grumbles, but there’s no indignation or terseness in his words.He’s being gentle with Celeste.It’s annoyingly attractive.
‘Too busy for me?I refuse to accept that.I deserve better and you know it.’Celeste pouts and I bury a smile in my fist.Women who don’t let men make excuses for mucking them around are who I want to be when I grow up.It doesn’t matter that I’m about a decade older than Celeste.
Knox rolls his eyes but his smile returns and, oh, I don’t like this at all.Or, more accurately, I don’t like how much I notice the way his whole body relaxes and his voice takes on a droll, teasing tone.They’re clearly familiar with each other.Are they the kind of familiar I’d fleetingly hoped Knox and I would be?
‘You’ll survive.’He shrugs.
‘I missed you,’ Celeste says, and there’s no mistaking the love in her eyes.Must be nice to be Knox Watson.One night he’s leaning against my door with a nonchalance I haven’t been able to stop thinking about and only a few days later another woman is gazing adoringly at him too.
‘I missed you too, munchkin.’
