Page 2

Chapter Two

Ellie

The man is hotter than any I’ve ever met. I’ve never had a type, but dark-haired guys outnumbered blonds in the past. However, I spent twenty-seven years married to a guy who started out blond. The asshole’s mostly white now. Those men in the dusty part of my memory were nothing like Enrique.

He just ran past my driveway, and he’s a sight to behold. Holy mother. The man’s built like a god. I don’t know if it’s natural and working out keeps him that way, or if his fitness routine makes him that way. He’s run past my house every day for a week. There’s a park at the top of my street that marks the end of my neighborhood. From the speed he runs, he must take at least one loop around it before turning around. It doesn’t take him forty-five minutes to come back because he’s a snail.

Even from my garage where I’m working out, I can see the muscles in his thighs and calves bunch and release with each step. His shoulders are thick and broad. It took all my effort not to stare at the divide between his pecs that was noticeable through his t-shirt the other day.

I’m not one who loves tats, but his arms have detailed works of art. The one starting low on his neck makes me want to investigate what’s under his shirt. I don’t know if he saw me watching him yesterday, but he was a house up from mine when he pulled up his tank top to wipe his face. The man’s abs—fucking-a. They are chiseled .

Today’s workout included Pilates instead of weights, so I was on my reformer. If he glanced over here, he probably thinks I’m nuts. My feet were in the straps above me, and I did shit that likely looked like I was trying out for Cirque du Soleil to anyone who doesn’t know Pilates. From a distance, I probably looked like they wouldn’t even take me as an understudy.

I might have turned my rowing machine around before I started working out this morning. I might be facing the direction he’ll come from on the way back. And I might be praying today’s the day he runs past without a shirt on.

As much as I find myself daydreaming about him, once I start my erg workout, I’m focused. I wish I was on the water, but the closest place is still a bit of a drive from here. If I’m not swimming, then any kind of rowing is my happy place. I focus on nothing but my breathing and my rhythm. It clears my mind. It’s also passing the time before I recognize the speck at the top of the hill.

I catch myself before I wipe my forehead on my shirt, but as I look down, I realize I’m pretty much in a puddle of sweat, anyway. There’s not much dry on my shirt to use. I grab the towel I laid on the weight bench, dry myself off as much as I can, and snag my keys from where I left them. I get to my mailbox just as he becomes recognizable beyond the red shorts he’s wearing today.

“Hi.”

I turn toward him as I pull the envelopes out. I’m still breathing hard, and he looks fresh as a daisy. He didn’t pant that word, but I fear I’ll barely choke my response. My heart’s racing, and it’s only partly leftover from the workout.

“Hey. How’re you?” I think I sound normal.

“Hot.”

Yes. Yes, he is.

“Looks like you had a good workout, too.”

He grins at me, and I want to melt into the ground. He thinks I’m a sweaty mess. I shouldn’t have come out here like this. I feel like an idiot.

“I did. The weather’s perfect.”

“I noticed your erg the other day. You’re a rower, aren’t you?”

“Yeah.” I guess I don’t look in shape enough to be a Crossfitter.

“I can tell because you actually know what you’re doing on it.” His grin broadens, and he could be on a toothpaste or gum commercial. Did his pearly whites just twinkle?

“If you know it’s called an erg, you must be a rower, too. I’ve been rowing since high school, but not the entire time.”

“Same. I wind up going a few weeks at a time without being on the water.”

I went a few years at a time without being on the water, but I don’t want to explain.

“Is there anywhere near here? The closest I found is Van Every Cove, which isn’t too bad, but it’s still forty minutes away.”

“That’s where I go. It’s the only place that’s big enough to keep from rowing in circles.”

“Is the boathouse the only place to put in at?” I can hold my own, and I’m not embarrassed to be lapped by the high schoolers. It just gets crowded.

“There are a few other places, but they’re private entry. If you ever want to—I can get you passes.”

What was he going to say?

“That would be nice. The kids are polite enough, but some of them are oblivious with their oars. They’re too busy talking or texting.”

“Does someone need to mention it to their coaches?”

His gaze hardens just enough for me to notice, but most people wouldn’t. Is he being defensive toward me, like I’m insulting someone he knows?

“Elodie, you know as well as I do how dangerous that can be and how expensive if anything gets damaged. I know a few people there. I can mention it if it’s a problem.”

“No. I’ve heard the coaches correct them. I’m still really new to the area, so I don’t know my way around yet. That’s the only place I’m familiar with.”

“Are you new to this part of Jersey?”

“I’m new to Jersey all together. I lived in New England for a long time, but I’m originally from DC Proper.”

Let Virginians and Marylanders say they’re from DC. You’re not unless you’ve had a license plate that says Taxation Without Representation or a DC driver's license.

“New England’s gorgeous.”

“It is. But I’m understanding why New Jersey’s called the Garden State.”

“Did you assume we’re just New York’s landfill?”

I curl my teeth around my lips, trying not to laugh. I hold up my hand with my thumb and index finger close together.

“I might have a bit, but that was before I dated a guy in college who grew up not too far from here.”

“You picked the pretty part of the state.”

I glance around the neighborhood then back to Enrique. “I did.”

And by pretty part, I’m thinking about the hot guy who runs past my house every day. I can’t believe I didn’t notice him before he helped me with my gutters.

My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I slip it out to peek at the screen. “I’m sorry. I have to take this. It’s my son.”

He looks at the house before looking back at me. “Does he need a ride home from somewhere? My sisters drove our mom nuts with chauffeur duty when they were teenagers.”

I tilt my head before I shake it. “My boys are in their twenties.” I slide my finger across the screen. “Give me a moment, please.”

I put the phone to my chest as I shift the mail in my other arm.

“It was nice talking to you again, Elodie.”

“Enjoy the rest of your run.”

He takes off as I turn back toward the house. I glance over my shoulder to see him one more time. “Hey, Will.”

I glance at my watch and hook the leash onto Constantine’s collar before heading out through the garage. I punch in the code, and the door shuts just as I reach the street. Out of habit, I glance back to make sure the door closes all the way, then I set off. I hope to be toward the top of the hill by the time Enrique catches up with me. I don’t know for sure he’ll be running while I’m out for my walk, but he’s been timing his runs pretty consistently since we met a week and a half ago.

They’ve deviated a little here and there, but never more than by about twenty minutes. I haven’t lived here long enough to know if this is a usual habit of his or if it’s anything different since he walked up my driveway. Part of me would love for that to be the case, but the realist in me says there’s no chance of that.

I want to “coincidentally” be at the top of the hill for another reason. I’m in good shape, but I don’t need him to hear me panting while I try to speak as we go up the incline together. My days of running are long over because I’ve torn my calf muscle twice, and I’m terrified of doing it a third time.

It also means to avoid straining them, I take longer to get up hills than I’d like. I’m putting way too much thought into this. He could run right past me and not even think twice about stopping to say hi. He’s waved the last few times he’s passed me while I’ve been working out in the garage.

I’ve had to go out to run some errands and for a meeting over the past week, so I haven’t been home every day he’s gone by. Twice, I’ve waved to him as he’s leaving the neighborhood, and I’m entering it. I don’t know where he comes from since I already figured out he doesn’t live around here. At least not in my neighborhood.

I live on the street that runs the length of it, and I’m toward the top. I’m far enough into the neighborhood to enjoy privacy and for it to be quieter than it is for those people who live near the gate. It makes me wonder how he can get in and out of the neighborhood if he doesn’t live here. The community’s fairly young. Most houses are only five or six years old, so perhaps he’s been running through here since before they built these homes. If that’s the case, then maybe the guards who work the gate already know him and just let him through.

I’m having a long conversation with myself, trying to occupy my mind as I crest the hill. It surprises me when I see him headed toward me. It’s not that I’ve been staring out my window to watch for him specifically, but I’ve been outside working in the garden for a while. He slows until he stops in front of me.

“Good morning.”

“Morning, Enrique.”

“Did you finish your flower bed?”

He must have seen me while my back was to the street. “That one. I still have a couple more to go.”

“You have quite the green thumb as you work on your garden. It’s more than what the previous owner had.”

“Yeah, I have the time these days. It’s something I’ve always wanted but hasn’t come true until now.”

“Are you and Constantine just setting off for your walk?”

He pats my dog between the ears. Constantine approves of Enrique. He barely made a sound when he saw Enrique stop at the mailbox the other day. Since then, he’s passed me while I’ve been playing with Constantine in the front yard. I have freshly laid sod in the back, so he’s not allowed out there right now.

“Yeah, we’re going to do a long loop today before it gets too warm. It’s been unseasonably hot here, hasn’t it?”

“Yeah, this is definitely June temperatures rather than April.”

“Do you think it’ll stay this way?”

“I hope so. I prefer it hotter than cold, but that’s what I’ve always been used to.”

I want to ask him about his past because I want to get to know him better. He definitely has a strong accent that tells me he grew up speaking Spanish before English. It’s not a New York or even a New Jersey Spanish accent, but I’m not sure we’re ready to jump into a background check when we’re just chatting about the weather right now.

“Have you gotten out on the water this week? I thought I saw you pulling in the other day with your single.”

He must have gone for an evening run on Tuesday. That was one of the few days I didn’t see him.

“I did. It was beautiful. I caught the last of the light just before the sun started to set. I’m getting to know my way around the cove and figuring out what workouts I enjoy.”

“Do you come up with your own, or do you use an app?”

He sounds genuinely interested, but Constantine tugs on his leash. He’s normally super well behaved, so that tells me he needs to go to the bathroom. Enrique notices too and smiles, turning in the direction I’m facing. I guess that means he’s coming with me. I set off, and he walks beside me to the left, keeping me closer to the curb. We continue to chat as Constantine waters the next five trees we go past.

“Did you say you’d been rowing for a while?”

He looks over at me as I stop again with Constantine, pulling a plastic bag loose from his leash. Fortunately, we’re close to the top of the road and the park where there’ll be a trash can nearby. Not exactly sexy carrying around a bag of dog shit.

“Yeah, I started rowing when I was in high school. Then I rowed in college as well. I coached for a bit right after college and rowed masters but was too young to compete with them. By the time I was old enough to qualify for masters, I’d already had my first son, and my family didn’t live close enough to a lake, a river, or the ocean for me to go out on the water easily while still having a young child at home. When I was ready to go back out on the water because I had somebody who could babysit him in the morning after my husband—ex-husband—and I left for work, I was pregnant again. That pattern stayed the same through a third son.”

I watch him from the corner of my eye to see how he reacts to all of that. I’m used to speaking of my former husband as my ex-husband most of the time, but it still feels a little odd to call Tim that when I talk about the past related to raising kids together. Or rather me raising them, and him floating in and out of the house whenever he felt like paying attention to us or work allowed.

Enrique doesn’t seem fazed by me mentioning I was previously married. He already knows I have adult sons, though I could be way overthinking this, and it’s of no interest to him at all.

Maybe it doesn’t matter to him if I’m single. I haven’t seen a ring on his hand or any shadow of shame—a wedding ring tan line on guys who slip off their rings to pretend they’re single. For all Tim’s faults, he never cheated on me except for the emotional affair he had at the end, but I encouraged that.

I’m lost in my thoughts, and I almost forget what we were talking about. Thankfully, Enrique pulls me back to the present.

“So, you had a few years off while your sons were young?”

Yeah, more than a few years. Try closer to two decades.

“I’ve just gotten back into it seriously over the last couple of years. I had to get my sea legs under me when I first started going out in a single. I hadn’t done that since just after college. When I was in high school and college, I rowed in eights, fours, and quads, so it was never just me balancing the boat and making sure I didn’t end up in the water.”

He cocks an eyebrow and shakes his head. “I haven’t had more than a few months off at a time since I first started rowing, and I tipped last week.”

“You did?”

“In all fairness, I got waked.” Someone’s boat cast a big enough wake to flip him.

“Oh, that’s obnoxious. How fast were they going?”

“Way over the speed limit.”

“Was that five where you were?”

“Yeah, they had to have easily been doing ten in a bass tracker.”

“That is obnoxious. Did they at least stop to see if you were all right?”

“No, they didn’t even bother to slow down.” He’s still smiling, but there’s that hard glint in his eyes I saw the other day when I mentioned going to the boathouse and some teenagers being careless.

It makes me wonder if he’s plotting their demise. Maybe that’s pushing it a little far, but he’s definitely still pissed, even if he’s trying to pass it off as no big deal.

“Did you play any other sports growing up?” I think steering the conversation away from him capsizing is probably a good idea right now.

“I swam, so rowing was sort of the logical progression, I guess. I love being on the water.”

“Same. I injured my rotator cuff from overuse as a swimmer, but it never bothered me when I switched to rowing.”

“I also grew up playing soccer.” He watches me as though he expects some type of response from me. Some quip with a stereotype?

“Me too. I was a total tomboy growing up. I was usually the only girl out on the field playing soccer at my elementary school. I’d be out there before school, after school, lunch recess, morning recess. Any chance I had, but swimming was my real love.”

“See, soccer is mine. I still play when I can with my brother and nephews. I played in college when I rowed just for fun because I couldn’t commit to two seasons. Each year, I only had the time for a single season sport.”

Rowing is both a fall and a spring sport with different lengths and styles of races, but it’s a year-round commitment for academic athletes that isn’t always easy to keep.

“Do you still play soccer?”

I shake my head and frown. “No, not in a long time. I tore my right calf muscle twice several years ago, so I don’t run anymore. I’m too nervous I’ll tear it again, and the third time will be the charm with me winding up in surgery.”

“That’s a shame, but I understand. You could always play keeper.”

“Yeah, but I’ve never enjoyed those kinds of?—”

I catch myself before I say what I’m thinking. I definitely don’t know him well enough to make off-color jokes.

“What were you going to say?”

“Nothing. It’s not important.”

“I’d like to know.” He sounds genuinely curious.

I laugh and shake my head. “No, I don’t know you well enough for you to hear that kind of humor.”

“Was it something about balls in your face?”

I can’t help but laugh as I nod. I look over at him, and again, his smile is so bright against his naturally tan skin I wonder if he ever modeled. He could’ve been in those toothpaste or gum commercials. Hell, he could still be on a billboard in Times Square.

We keep chatting as we finish a loop around the park and head back to my house. The conversation was never stilted, even though we talked about sports we play and even ones we enjoy watching the whole way.