Page 22 of In the Long Run

GEN

What’s the proper protocol when you stumble across a real-life unicorn?

Receipts or it didn’t happen? That’s what the cool kids say, right?

I follow the deep timbre of Knox’s voice out the front door of the apartment building, pausing while I’m mostly hidden behind the whitewashed brick exterior wall that makes up one side of Eugene’s front courtyard.

My Tuesday afternoon just got so much better.

Knox is reading to Eugene, who sits next to him, his injured foot resting on another chair, face tipped up towards the sun, his eyes closed, a serene expression on his face.

Madeleine and Chouquette are curled underneath Eugene’s chair, like two halves of a circle.

I don’t recognise the book, but if Knox ever wanted to leave the Army, he’d have a solid future as an audiobook narrator or voiceover artist. And if he joined in on the wave of popular romances Celeste has started sending me TikToks about, people would probably get pregnant.

After another few sentences, Knox stops, rests the thick book against his chest and rolls his neck from one shoulder to the other.

‘Are you asleep?’ he asks Eugene, who snores in response.

Knox leans back and stretches his legs in front of him.

As his own eyes close, Madeleine spots me and springs up, barking.

Busted.

‘Hi.’ I attempt the nonchalant tone I’ve never been good at and wave when Knox looks up.

I’d like to kiss you, Gen.

He stands, quickly rearranges the blanket that’s covering Eugene and meets me at the fence line.

‘How’s he doing?’ I ask.

Knox looks over his shoulder, his expression tender. ‘Eug has gotten used to having an afternoon nap.’

‘Do you read to him often?’

‘Most days. He used to read to me when I first moved in with him. I was a bit of a shit.’ Knox’s lips twist into a wry smile. ‘Ever since I moved away, we’ve tried to read the same books. Kind of like our own little book club.’

Oh no. Imagining Knox in full Army get-up, making notes in a paperback to talk about with Eugene later might actually make me swoon. ‘That’s really nice of you.’

He shrugs, modest as always. ‘It’s nice for both of us.’

He really is a nice guy. It’s reassuring to know I wasn’t wrong about that.

‘What are you up to?’ Knox asks.

‘I’m headed to the gym.’ Strength training’s not my favourite, but I want to support Meredith and Bernie, and everyone says how beneficial it is for runners, so I make a point to sling some weights around each week.

Knox nods and steps back from the fence, his hands sliding into the pockets of his sweats. He’s dressed for the gym too. Mere mentioned that he’d started coming to some of their classes.

I can do this. Take another step towards trusting myself. Trusting him. ‘Do you want to come?’

He checks his watch. It’s just before four.

‘Let me wake Eug and check if he needs me for the next hour or so. He should get up anyway. Sleeping in these chairs will fuck up his back and neck. All the sitting and lying has already caused hip issues and the physio said …’ Knox stops, squeezes his eyes shut and cringes.

‘Sorry. I’m becoming one of those people who obsessively charts everything about someone else and then overshares. ’

‘It means you care, Knox. That’s not a bad thing. Eugene’s lucky to have you.’

His shoulders relax and he looks at Eugene. There’s that soft smile again. ‘I’m the lucky one. Give me a few minutes to get him back inside and settled?’

‘Do you want me to take Madeleine and Chouquette for a quick walk? Meet back here in fifteen?’

‘I took them for a run this morning, but I’m sure they’d love another wander. Thanks, Gen.’

‘You’re welcome.’

His gaze dips to my lips.

I’d like to kiss you, Gen.

Oh God, is he going to kiss me now? Am I ready for that? Why did I have a tuna sandwich for lunch? I breathe out slowly, trying to sniff my breath covertly and Eugene stirs.

Knox steps back reluctantly. ‘I’ll get their leads.’

The gym was a bad idea. Knox looks good when he runs, but lifting weights?

In a singlet that highlights the dips and ridges of his abs, his shoulders?

I’m not the only one who’s noticed either.

In everyone else’s defence, he’s hard to ignore.

One knee on the bench, back straight, and biceps and triceps and whatever-ceps flexing as he does bent-over rows.

Don’t even get me started on the view I have of his ass right now.

Two firm globes of pure muscle. More than adequate for someone to hypothetically dig their fingernails into.

He lifts the big dumbbell slowly, his trademark control and composure on display. His only tell is how his jaw clenches with the effort.

Heat flows through my body and I’m sweating like I’m trying to break the world record for burpees. Grunting, I lift a medicine ball over my head and slam it down. My arms are like jelly already.

Knox finishes his reps and moves to the station next to mine. He wipes his face with the bottom of his singlet, exposing acres of what is at least an eightpack – numbers are my thing, remember – and a smattering of dark hair that trails down below his waistband.

‘Gen?’

Oh God. I’ve been staring. This is why I can’t have nice things.

I bend over and pick up the medicine ball, holding it against my stomach like it’s a lifesaving ring and not something that would drag me to the bottom of the ocean.

If I don’t keep my hands occupied, I’m liable to do something ridiculous like offer to towel him down.

‘Yes?’ I shoot for casual and miss it by a country mile, the word more of a grunt than anything else.

‘Are you finished with the medicine ball?’

I can’t explain what happens next – I pray Mere and Bernie never check the security cameras – because I chuck the ball at Knox.

Not pass it. Or gently lob it. Well, as gently as you can lob a twelve-kilogram ball.

It hits him with an oof that sends him staggering back into a rack of resistance bands.

‘Sorry!’ I cry, rushing over to him and attracting the attention of the people who weren’t already watching us. Who am I kidding? Everyone was watching us.

My throat tightens and my mouth opens and closes but nothing comes out. Knox is too close and he would like to kiss me . His spicy, musky scent floats around me, rendering the last two working brain cells I had useless.

‘Is everything okay? You seem a bit off today,’ he says.

Bless him for finding a polite way to say ‘unhinged’.

And no, I’m not okay. I can’t stop thinking about what it would be like to pull him close, press myself up against all the muscles that are currently shining under the gym’s lights and press my mouth against his.

I want to taste him. Give in to the fantasies that have plagued me since we met.

He shifts the medicine ball to one side, resting it on his hip, and waits for me to reply, because that’s how questions work, isn’t it? You’re supposed to answer.

‘I’m fine.’

‘There you are!’ someone calls. Mum?

I’m no longer fine.

‘Bernie said you were here.’ Mum glides through the room until she’s stopped in front of us. Her smile widens when she sees Knox. My heart sinks because I love my mother, but it’s not hard to predict how this conversation is going to go.

‘Mum. Hi. What are you doing here?’

‘I found the cutest outfits for Mere’s baby when I was out with the girls this morning and I couldn’t wait to drop them off.’

Her eyes dart from my face to Knox’s and back again. I sigh.

‘Mum, this is Knox. Knox, this is my mother, Eva Halliday.’

Knox offers his hand to Mum, who clasps it tightly. ‘Nice to meet you, Mrs Halliday.’

‘Oh, it’s Eva, please. Mrs Halliday was my mother-in-law. I was hoping I’d get to meet you soon. One of my friends was telling me all about your and Gen’s social media adventures! Certainly looks like you two are having a lot of fun together.’

I duck my head when I hear the hurt in her words.

It’s well disguised under her bubbly tone, but it’s still there.

This is why there should be a special algorithm that allows parents and their adult children to share only benign content with each other.

For example, yesterday’s sunrise was beautiful.

A cacophony of ambers and scarlets that said hello to the world so gorgeously I had to share it with my seventeen followers.

Are there any potential issues if Mum sees that?

Nope. She knows I run early. That I love a sunrise.

We can have a lovely, no-strings-attached text exchange over how awesome Mother Nature is.

But going viral with the hot guy you said you weren’t interested in, multiple times over the course of six weeks? Who you’re supposed to be pretending to like but now you really do? Without getting her hopes up? That’s a hard conversation to have.

‘This is my favourite one.’ She whips out her phone and shoves it under Knox’s nose.

It’s the video Celeste was working on at last week’s dinner.

It’s more stylised, with smooth transitions and fun gifs overlayed against shots of runners set against the early morning skies.

Train Hard splashes across the screen above footage of Bernie leading his group through butt kicks before changing to some of the Army runners racing each other down the Esplanade.

The bay is glassy and shimmery and perfect behind them.

Then it switches to the Annas high-fiving each other, all bouncy ponytails and human embodiments of a post-run high as Challenge Yourself appears.

And then it’s Knox and me, our legs moving in sync.

I squint, remembering what’s coming. Play Hard.

His arm lifts and he gently pushes me, a smile tugging at his lips like there’s no way he could possibly stop it.

Reward Yourself pops up on the video before the background image dissolves. It’s replaced by a single image of Knox behind the patisserie’s counter wearing an apron and a backwards baseball cap as he passes me my coffee. And almost as though it was scripted, he blushes when I smile at him.

Come for the run. Stay for the fun.

Croissants & Kilometres: the Run Club for Everyone.

‘We are having fun,’ Knox says when it’s clear that I don’t know how to respond.

‘I’m so glad,’ Mum says.

Phew. Okay. Maybe I’ve overreacted and not given Mum as much credit as she deserves. She saw the TikToks and got excited but she’s reined it in. Just like she underestimates me, maybe I do the same to her.

‘Here’s an idea,’ Mum says. ‘We’re having a family dinner tonight at the Clamshell. Why don’t you come along too, Knox?’

Or maybe she’s as predictable as I thought she’d be.

‘Mum,’ I hiss before turning towards Knox. ‘It’s so last minute. You don’t have to come. There’s no pressure at all.’

‘Uhhh …’ Knox’s eyes are wider than normal.

‘But you can come if you want to,’ Mum adds. ‘Can’t he, Gen? It’d be so lovely to get to know you better.’

Oh, God. This is a disaster. Now it’s going to sound like he doesn’t want to come if he says no.

‘And Meredith and Bernie just cancelled, so there’s plenty of space at the table.’

‘Dinner sounds good.’ Knox coughs into his fist.

‘Wonderful!’ Mum claps her hands. ‘Gen will give you all the details. I can’t stay now, but you can tell me all about Croissants and Kilometres at dinner! Bye!’

‘That’s who you are!’ a guy on the leg press exclaims – luckily once Mum’s out of earshot. ‘I thought you both looked familiar. My wife makes me watch your TikToks. She’s part of your run club. Never stops banging on about how great it is.’

Knox and I smile uneasily. It’s one thing having strangers engage with the digital version of yourself that you’re sharing online, but in person, I don’t know what to do with my face.

‘Her name’s Violet,’ the man says.

‘Violet’s doing so well,’ Knox says smoothly, always stepping up when I’m stuck being awkward. ‘We’re really enjoying having her be a part of our club.’

‘She gets nervous doing long distances on her own, so Croissants and Kilometres has been a godsend for her. Have you guys considered mid-week sessions?’

Knox and I share a glance. ‘If there was interest, maybe.’

The guy pushes the foot pad away from his body, the weights clanking as they lift. ‘Anyway, meeting the parents is a big dating milestone. Violet’s going to be stoked that you’re getting serious.’

‘I’m sorry about Mum,’ I say once we’ve politely disentangled ourselves from our conversation with Violet’s husband. ‘I can get you out of dinner.’

Knox steps closer, angling his body so Mr Violet can’t see me anymore. ‘You don’t need to apologise. I’d like to come to dinner.’

‘Really?’

‘I like spending time with you, Gen.’ And there’s that little smile again. The one that’s so unassuming and natural it can’t possibly be fake.

Let’s hope he still feels the same way after dinner with my parents.